VI  B  RARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


*JL  mkt.  sum* 


/ 

^(ju4^Ul/u^  lit 


LORAIN  BEEBE   LYNDS 

Kankakee  County's  First  School  Teacher  and  Postmistress, 
Who  Lived  to  the  Great  Age  of  Ninety-Three. 


Tales  of 

An  Old  "Border  Town" 

AND 

Along  The  Kankakee 

A  Collection  of  Historical  Facts  and  Intimate  Per- 
sonal Sketches  of  the  Days  of  the  Pioneers  in 
Momence,  Illinois,  and  the  Hunting 
Grounds  of  the  Kankakee 
Marsh  and  "Bogus 
Island" 


BY 

BURT    E.    BURROUGHS 

Author  of  Legends  and  Tales  of  Homeland  on  the  Kankakee, 
California    Letters,    Etc. 


FOWLER,  INDIANA 
THE  BENTON  REVIEW  SHOP 


Copyrighted,    1925, 

BURT   E.   BURROUGHS 

Kankakee,  Illinois. 


PREFACE 

To  Noel  Le  Vasseur  is  accorded  the  honor  of  being  the 
first  white  settler  within  the  borders  of  Kankakee  county 
as  we  know  it  today'.  He  built  his  cabin  of  logs  inj  the  tim- 
ber known  as  "LaPointe,"  or  Bourbonnais,  in  the  year 
1832.  In  1833,  William  Lacy  built  a  log  cabin  on  a  ford 
of  the  Kankakee  ten  miles  west  of  the  Indiana  state-line 
which  was  known  later  as  "Upper  Crossing,"  or  Westport. 
A  year  later  Asher  Sargeant  creaked  up  to  the  Kankakee 
with  his  ox-drawn  wagon  and  built  the  first  habitation  on 
the  present  site  of  Momence,  a  mile  west  of  where  Lacy 
settled.  These  three  settlements  of  1832,  1833  and  1834, 
just  one  year  apart,  have  had  variously  checkered  careers. 
In  the  end,  however,  Momence  outstripped  them  all.  "Upper 
Crossing,"  today,  is  but  a  memory.  It  has  faded  completely 
from  the  face  of  the  earth.  Not  so  with  Bourbonnais.  It 
is  a  bright,  clean,  contented  little  ville  that  neither  gains 
nor  loses  appreciably  but  is  content  to  hold  its  own  in  these 
day's  of  turmoil  and  strife. 

Momence  of  the  old  border  days  was  a  regular  he- 
man's  town.  Situated  on  the  river  and  on  the  edge  of  that 
vast  marsh  paradise  of  nearby  Indiana,  it  was  for  years  a 
sort  of  capital  for  the  country  roundabout,  the  focal  point 
towards  which  the  thoughts  and  steps  of  the  wilderness 
population  often  turned.  Here  supplies  of  powder  and  shot 
were  to  be  had  and  here,  also,  a  fellow  with  a  "thirst" 
could  deluge  the  inner  man  to  his  heart's  content  with  no 
one  to  say  him  nay,  so  long  as  he  had  a  raccoon  or  mink 
pelt  left  to  pay  for  it.  If,  in  the  full  and  complete  enjoy- 
ment of- his  debauch,  he  elected  to  stow  himself  in  a  corner 
on  the  puncheon  floor  and  sleep  it  off,  that  was  his  busi- 
ness. If  he  chose  to  run  amuck  that,  also,  was  his  privi- 
lege. There  were  no  "stop  and  go"  signs,  no  village  mar- 
shal looming  behind  a  "tin"  star,  no  law  except  the  law  of 
force.     It  was  the  day  of  the  "border." 

Writing  of  these  things  in  this  day  is  no  easy'  task.  We 
realize  with  regret  that  it  was  undertaken  too  late  to  do 
full   justice  to  the   life   story  of  a  border   settlement  that 


has,  after  many  vicissitudes,  emerged  into  a  well  ordered 
city.  Her  pioneers  sleep  today  hard  by  the  scene  of  their 
former  endeavors,  but  their  voices  are  stilled./  They*  left  no 
written  records,  in  the  main,  and  of  the  things  they  said  and 
the  things  they  did  we  collect  but  fragments  in  this  day 
and  count  ourselves  fortunate.  In  this  volume  we  have  in- 
corporated historical  fact  together  with  legend,  incident  and 
story  of  the  old  days  which  are  likely  to  prove  most  val- 
uable, in  their  narrative  setting,  to  the  reading  public.  The 
reader  is  forewarned  that  this  little  volume  is  not  designed 
as  a  compendium  of  local  history,  exactly.  Rather  would  we 
have  it  remembered  for  its  narratives  of  a  day  and  its 
people  long  since  passed  on — a  day  when  the  middle  west- 
ern empire  (which  included  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Kan- 
kakee) was  in  the  making — an  empire  peopled  by  "home- 
spun" giants,  who  deserve,  at  least,  as  a  reward  of  hav- 
ing lived,  the  poor  boon  of  remembrance. 

BURT  E.  BURROUGHS. 

Kankakee   Illinois,   September   1,   1925. 


APPRECIATIONS 

Were  it  not  that  people,  in  the  main,  are  friendly,  kind- 
ly, responsive  in  a  marked  degree  to  the  importunities  of 
the  seeker  after  stories  and  factai  of  the  great  Pioneer  Age, 
of  the  Kankakee  Valley,  a  volume  such  as  this  would  be  well- 
nigh  impossible.  I  have  learned  something  of  the  friendly 
quality  of  Kankakee  county  folk  in  the  last  two  years  and  a 
half  and,  let  me  add,  this  also  applies  to  those  portions  of 
Newton  and  Lake  counties  in  Indiana,  wherein  is  located  the 
basin  of  the  Kankakee  which  we  know  as  the  "Kankakee 
Marsh"  and  "Beaver  Lake."  From  the  humblest  dweller  of  the 
marsh  on  up  through  the  varying  human  strata  wherein  is 
represented  the  busy  man  and  the  idler,  the  man  of  afflu- 
ence and  the  man  of  small  affairs — all  have  listened  to  the 
appeal  for  some  fact  of  interest  concerning  the  old  days  of 
our  fathers  and  mothers  and  responded  as  they*  were  able, 
willingly  and  gladly.  If  this  volume  should  be  found  to  con- 
tain data  and  incidents  out  of  the  ordinary,  it  is'  attributal, 
in  large  part,  to  that  spirit  on  the  part  of  the  people  Which 
seeks  to  be  obliging. 

Mr.  C.  M.  C.  Buntain,  of  Kankakee,  has  permitted  me 
to  use  sketches  of  the  late  W.  W.  Parish  and  the  pioneer, 
Cornelius  Cane,  prepared  by  him  years  ago,  while  the  facts 
were  readily  obtainable.  He  has  gathered  together  many  in- 
teresting and  valuable  documents,  in  the  course  of  the  years, 
and  these  he  tendered  the  writer  to  make  use  of  in  any  way 
he  saw  fit.  The  handbill  gotten  out  by  Dr.  Todd  in  1844  ad- 
vertising for  sale  certain  Indian  lands  and  the  town  lots  of 
Momence,  is  an  especially  prized  relic  of  Mr.  Buntain's  which 
is  reproduced  in  half-tone. 

Mr.  Fred  Nichols,  of  Momence,  has  been  indefatigable 
in  his  efforts  to  put  the  writer  in  the  way  of  obtaining 
that  data  of  old  days  in  and  about  Momence  which  was  most 
valuable  and  worth  while.  With  his  machine  and  with 
Clarence  Nichols  at  the  wheel,  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
old  Beaver  Lake  Basin  has  been  visited,  turned  wrong-side 
out  and  thoroughly  scrutinized.  Mr.  Nichols  has  been  a  host 
in  himself. 


Hon.  Clark  Brown,  of  Union,  Missouri,  Representative  in 
the  Missouri  legislature,  a  former  Momence  man  by  the 
way,  has  earned  my  everlasting-  gratitude  by  his  unqualified 
approval  of  a  previous  volume  and  by  his  timely'  help  in  the 
present  one.  "The  Last  Encampment  of  the  Indians,"  is  from 
the  pen  of  Mr.  Brown,  in  response  to  a  request  for  something 
with  the  touch  of  the  wilderness  in  it.  It  is  a  valuable  contri- 
bution to  the  early-day  lore  of  Kankakee  county. 

O.  M.  Harlan,  of  the  Press-Reporter,  has  shown  a  keen 
and  helpful  interest,  and  has  supplied  data  not  otherwise 
obtainable.  Mrs.  Orra  Allen  has  supplied  the  details  of 
"Chief  White  Foot's  Home-Coming,"  a  most  interesting  story. 
Mrs.  Nutt,  Mrs.  Alzada  Hopper,  of  Momence,  and  Mr.  A.  B. 
Jenkins,  of  Morocco,  Indiana,  together  with  the  patriarchal 
Austin  Dexter,  furnished  the  details  for  the  story  of  "Old 
Shafer,"  a  character  of  swamp  days  whose  very  name  spelled 
terror  for  the  settlers.  Mr.  Jenkins,  especially,  has  put  me  in 
the  way  cf  many  interesting  things.  He  is  a  gentleman  most 
agreeable  and  entertaining. 

Data  concerning  Beaver  Lake  in  the  days  when  the  hunt- 
ers sought  it,  was  obtained  through  Judge  W.  A.  Hunter,  of 
Kankakee,  Mr.  Victor  Brassard,  of  Momence,  Mr.  Andy 
Granger,  of  DeMotte,  Indiana,  A.  L.  Barker,  Mr.  Lawbaugh. 
Joseph  Kite,  Mr.  Nichols,  of  Lake  Village,  Indiana,  and  Mr. 
A.  B.  Jenkins,  of  Morocco,  Indiana. 

Others  who  have  given  valuable  aid  in  one  way  or  an- 
other are:  Mr.  Frank  Hamilton,  Mr.  James  Kirby,  Mrs.  Su- 
san Cook,  Mrs.  J.  H.  Freeman,  of  Momence,  Mrs.  Lyons,  of 
Sherburnville,  E.  D.  Blakely',  Mr.  F.  0.  Chapman  and  Chas. 
Sherman,  of  Kankakee. 

BURT  E.   BURROUGHS. 


viii 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION 

THE  "UPPER   CROSSING"  OF  THE   KANKAKEE...  15 

NAMING  OF  MOMENCE    36 

PASSING  OF  "OLD  TRAPPER  DAN"    49 

"UNCLE  BILLY"  NICHOLS  COLLECTS  FOR  A  HAM  54 

"THE  HOUSE  THAT  JACK  BUILT"    58 

HOSS  RACING  DAYS  IN  OLD  MOMENCE   64 

LAST  ENCAMPMENT  OF  THE  INDIANS    74 

MOMENCE    INCORPORATES 78 

AN   ANCIENT   HUNTING   GROUND 

I — The  Kankakee  from  Momence  to  the  State-Line. .     88 
II — Up-River  in  Indiana — Gurdon  S.  Hubbard — Lyon's 

Lane   97 

III — Old   Hunting  Days   in   the  Kankakee   Marsh ....   104 
IV — The  Black  Marsh — Nesting  Grounds — The  Cranes 

— Beaver    Lake   Reclaimed    118 

V— Story  of  an  Old  Marsh  Rat 131 

FAMOUS    "BOGUS    ISLAND"    138 

"OLD  SHAFER"  OF  THE  BLACK  MARSH   154 

JOHN  HADDON  MAKES  A  KILLING   179 

"WHITE  FOOT"  VISITS  HIS  BIRTHPLACE    183 

REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  PARISH,  SR 186 

THE   OLD   LOG   HOUSE 195 

MEMORIES  OF  THE  OLD  HILL  BRIDGE   197 

THE  "GOLL  DUMMED"  RAILROAD    201 

SELLING  A  COON  TRACK   203 

UNCLE  MARK  ATHERTON  AND  THE  TRAPPERS..   205 

"NIGGER    DOC"    209 

ix 


JOE  BARBEE,  OF  INDIAN   GARDEN    212 

A  PLAGUE  OP  FROGS   217 

MAFFETT  TELLS  A  "TALL  ONE" 223 

THE  ELDERS'  CLUB . . .;  .227 

CHARLES   MAFFETT'S   WOODEN    STOVE    .........  233 

KANKAKEE  COUNTY'S  FIRST  SCHOOL  TEACHER      238 

TWO   PIONEER   CRONIES    .  . . .......   247 

AROMA  TOWNSHIP'S  "BEST  MAN"   .   251 

"GOOD   OLD   ELDER   BURR" 259 

THE  OLD  HILL  TAVERN 272 

AN  IMPROMPTU  DOUBLE  WEDDING 284 

THE  RIVER  NAVIGATION  PROJECT 294 

THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  THE  PRAIRIE 304 


INTRODUCTION 

MOMENCE  OF  THE  OLD  FRONTIER 

Momence  is  an  old  town — the  oldest,  per- 
haps, in  north-eastern  Illinois  bordering  on 
the  Illinois-Indiana  state-line.  She  has  enter- 
ed upon  the  final  decade  which,  on  its  com- 
pletion in  1934,  will  round  out  one  hundred 
years  of  existence,  speaking  by  and  large. 
For  years  it  was  merely  a  river  settlement 
without  a  name,  a  sort  of  rallying  point  for 
the  picturesque  southern  pioneer  hunter,  the 
coureur  de  bois  and  voyageur,  the  Hoosier 
from  the  Wabash,  and  the  hard-headed  Yan- 
kee from  Vermont,  New  Hampshire  and  New 
York,  whom  kindly  fortune  directed  by  way 
of  shadowy,  indistinct  trails  to  the  banks  of 
the  Kankakee,  in  their  quest  of  "wood,  water 
and  grass."  This  spot  where  the  pioneers 
foregathered  is  rich  in  stirring  tales  of  the 
border.  Momence,  in  her  old  frontier  days, 
reflected  in  a  marked  degree  those  elemental 
traits  so  characteristic  of  border  life.  The 
term,  "elemental  traits,"  as  applied  to  the 
few  families  who  constituted  the  popula- 
tion of  the. old  river  settlement  of  the  Kan- 
kakee ninety  years  ago  and  better  is  relied 
upon  to  convey  to  the  reader  an  idea  of  the 


2       TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

hardihood,  self-reliance  and  independence  that 
possessed  them.  In  that  early  day  there  was 
an  absence  of  repressive  measures,  no  super- 
imposed law  except  that  unwritten  law  of  the 
border  which  held  a  man's  property  inviolate. 
A  man  who  stole  another's  horse  in  that  day 
knew  that  he  risked  his  neck.  The  penalty 
was  death — sure,  swift,  certain  death— once 
he  fell  within  the  clutches  of  the  one  who  had 
suffered  the  loss.  The  settlement  and  later 
the  town,  after  it  had  emerged  from  this  prim- 
itive chrysalis,  was  for  years  a  reflex  of  this 
expansive,  unrestricted  spirit  of  the  pioneer. 
Naturally,  it  was,  betimes,  an  easy-going, 
wide-open,  red-hot,  go-as-you-please  sort  of 
burg  with  as  varied  and  nondescript  a  lot  of 
dwellers,  regular  and  transient,  as  ever  called 
for  whiskey  over  anybody's  bar,  or  bet  their 
money  on  a  hand  of  poker  or  a  horse  race,  or 
settled  their  differences  man  to  man  with  the 
bare  fists. 

Momence  is  the  one  town  on  the  river 
that  really  has  a  frontier  history.  Here,  in 
the  long  ago,  where  the  prairie  trails  con- 
verged to  the  fords  of  the  Kankakee,  ten  or 
a  dozen  families  were  attracted,  among  them 
the  Lacys,  the  VanKirks,  the  Hills,  the  Nich- 
ols, the  Grahams,  the  Hayhursts,  the  Dickeys, 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE 


the  Dutchers,  the  Buffingtons,  in  the  main 
representative  pioneer  stock  from  Indiana 
with  antecedents  harking  back  to  Kentucky, 
Tennessee,  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas.  These 
families  settled  mainly  in  the  near  vicinity 
of  the  "Upper  Crossing."  Nearer  the  settle- 
ment of  Momence,  a  mile  away,  a  stream  of 
eastern  people  settled.  Asher  Sargeant  was 
the  first  to  settle  there  in  1834.  In  1835  came 
his  brother,  Enoch  and  a  man  by  the  name  of 
McKibben;  in  1836  came  A.  S.  Vail,  Judge  Or- 
son Beebe  and  Newell  Beebe;  in  1838  came 
Daniel  Beebe,  Caleb  Wells  and  Col.  Lyman 
Worcester;  in  1839  came  Walter  B.  Hess,  A. 
B.  Parish  and  Dr.  Mazuzan ;  in  1840  came  W. 
W.  Parish,  Benjamin  Lamport  and  James 
Nichols ;  in  1841  came  Dr.  David  Lynds,  James 
M.  Perry,  David  Perry  and  Philip  Worcester, 
and  others.  After  the  lapse  of  three-quar- 
ters of  a  century,  representatives  of  most  of 
these  early-day  pioneer  families  still  walk  the 
streets  of  the  old  town  and  are  identified  with 
the  social  and  business  life  of  the  community. 
In  1849,  after  the  bridge  had  gone  out  for 
the  second  time,  "Westport,"  or  "Lorain,"  as 
the  "Upper  Crossing"  was  variously  termed, 
gave  up  trying  to  be  a  town  and  gradually 
added  her  forces  to  the  struggling  backwoods 


4  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

settlement  of  Momence.  So,  you  see,  Momence, 
as  residuary  legatee  of  "Lorain"  and  her  en- 
virons) thus  falls  heir  to  her  traditions,  leg- 
ends and  historical  lore,  and  may  reasonably 
lay  claim  to  one  hundred  years  of  stirring 
history. 

The  Indian  was  still  here  when  Dr.  Todd 
platted  the  town.  Clad  in  his  blanket,  un- 
touched by  the  civilization  about  him,  he  puz- 
zled over  the  queer  actions  of  the  transit  man 
and  he  who  carried  the  chain  and  established 
a  multitude  of  corners  by  driving  stakes  here 
and  there.  Vaguely  he  understood  that  this 
mysterious  process  was  a  mere  preliminary  to 
the  placing  of  the  white  man's  tepee.  Civil- 
ization was  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  red- 
man's  domain  at  last. 

The  trapper  and  hunter,  the  voyageur 
and  coureur  de  bois,  vigorous,  hardy,  pictur- 
esque in  his  wilderness  attire  of  skins  and 
bright  tasseled  cap,  found  a  paradise  in  the 
upper  reaches  of  the  Kankakee,  and  a  game 
sanctuary  in  the  vast  marsh  region  of  near- 
by Indiana,  which  thrilled  his  soul  with  sav- 
age delight.  The  squatter  and  the  idler  rear- 
ed his  abode  of  logs  by  the  river's  side  where 
ever  fancy  dictated,  untroubled  by  any 
thought  of  "meets   and    bounds,"    or   prior 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE 


claims.  In  that  early  day  the  universe  was 
his.  Here  he  existed  in  luxurious  idleness 
surrounded  >by  that  plenty  which  only  the 
wilderness  bestows,  and  thanked  God  and  his 
lucky  stars  (if  he  gave  thanks  at  all),  for  a 
situation  so  charming  and  soul-satisfying. 

During  the  forties  and  the  fifties,  par- 
ticularly during  the  fall  season  and  early  win- 
ter, the  hosts  of  freighters  from  the  Wabash 
country  going  to  Chicago  and  back  again, 
made  Momence  their  rendezvous.  Mr.  W.  W. 
Parish  recalls  that  it  was  no  unusual  thing  to 
find  as  many  as  one  hundred  to  two  hundred 
teams  and  wagons  disposed  along  the  river 
at  night  in  camps,  while  the  men,  for  the 
most  part,  filled  the  saloons  and  public  plac- 
es of  the  little  settlement  and  drank  and  play- 
ed cards  or  engaged  in  conversation  as  the 
mood  suited.  These  gatherings  represented 
typical  pioneer  types.  There  was  the  man  of 
the  woods,  the  man  of  the  river,  the  man  of 
the  prairie,  every  man  of  them  a  red-blood- 
ed individual  whom  stern  necessity  and  wild- 
erness training  had  endowed  with  the  qual- 
ity of  looking  out  for  himself  anywhere  and 
under  any  circumstances.  Life,  for  such  as 
these,  was  a  constant  hand-to-hand  struggle 
with  the  elements  and  hardships  an  unvary- 


6  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

ing  item  in  the  daily  round  of  experiences. 
Such  were  the  diverse  elements  that,  constitu- 
ted, in  a  large  measure,  the  frontier  society 
of  that  day,  and  on  their  visits  to  the  settle- 
ment they  mingled  and  jostled  and  touched 
elbows  in  a  neighborly,  friendly  way — the 
good,  the  bad,  the  shiftless  and  indifferent — in 
their  common  meeting  place,  the  saloon  or  the 
backwoods  grocery,  which  served  quite  as 
well  as  the  saloon  if  one  merely  wanted  a 
drink  of  liquor.  The  frontier  grocery  was 
the  forum  wherein  Democracy  thrived  in  the 
days  when  the  nation  was  in  the  making. 

To  this  rather  unpromising  composite  of 
frontier  types  thus  thrown  together  by  chance 
was  added  in  numbers  wholly  disproportionate 
to  the  sum  of  Momence's  population,  thieves 
of  high  and  low  degree,  counterfeiters,  horse 
thieves  and  cattle  rustlers,  who  trickled  down 
stream  from  that  impregnable  retreat  of  "Bo- 
gus Island,"  situated  in  the  great  "Kanka- 
kee Marshes"  over  the  line  in  Indiana,  only 
fifteen  miles  away.  Eighty  years  ago,  it 
should  be  remembered,  an  organization  of 
desperate  men,  known  as  the  "Prairie  Ban- 
ditti," operated  in  the  Mississippi  Basin.  Chief- 
ly their  efforts  were  devoted  to  stealing  horses 
and    making     and     circulating    counterfeit 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE 


money.  They  operated  from  headquarters  lo- 
cated in  some  naturally  secluded  and  inaccessi- 
ble spot  adjacent  to  the  Mississippi  river,  safe 
from  prying  eyes  and  easily  defended.  Nauvoo 
City,  of  the  Mormons,  was  a  favored  refuge 
for  certain  of  the  Prairie  Banditti  for  years. 
Notorious  "Dave  Redden"  had  a  "run-in"  on 
the  river  below  Davenport,  Iowa,  where  the 
thief  or  murderer,  hard  pressed  by  the  officers 
of  justice,  might  rest  secure  from  detection. 
This  place  was  known  by  the  suggestive  title 
of  "Devil's  Run."  St.  Louis  was  a  clearing 
house  for  stolen  horses  and  there  was  hardly 
a  horse  thief  in  that  day  who  did  not  handle 
spurious  coin  and  pass  it  at  every  opportunity. 
As  their  operations  grew  other  natural 
harbors  of  security  were  made  use  of,  notably 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Terre  Haute,  in  the 
Eel  River  country  of  Indiana,  on  the  Wabash, 
and  "Bogus  Island,"  situated  in  the  marsh 
country  of  Indiana  some  fifteen  miles  east  of 
the  frontier  settlement  of  Momence.  "Bogus 
Island,"  with  its  thousands  of  acres  of  open 
lake,  swamp,  scrub  oak  ridges  and  timber, 
formed  the  most  perfect  rendezvous  of  all. 
Thus  it  is  we  find  Momence  at  the  very  be- 
ginning of  her  career  as  a  backwoods  settle- 
ment a  neighbor  of  notorious  "Bogus  Island," 


8  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

and  021  terms  of  easy  familiarity  with  the  is- 
land's habitues.  In  the  course  of  the  years 
certain  members  of  the  squatter  and  trapper 
element,  easy  of  conscience  and  wholly  bank- 
rupt as  to  morals,  formed  a  connection  with 
these  island  outlaws  and  served  as  "spotters," 
"tip-off  men"  and  purveyors  of  news  gener- 
ally. A  few  there  were  who  developed  to  a 
point  where  they  could  "make  a  sight"  as  the 
location  of  a  desirable  horse  was  termed  in 
outlaw  parlance,  and  also  lend  valuable  aid  "in 
raising  the  sight,"  if  need  be.  This  squatter 
"secret  service"  grew  in  efficiency  as  the  years 
went  on  until  its  ramifications,  penetrating 
to  every  quarter,  enmeshed  the  surrounding 
country  until  it  seemed  all  but  hopeless  to  pre- 
vent a  theft,  and  next  to  impossible  to  recover 
property  thus  stolen. 

Naturally,  force  was  the  dominant  note 
in  the  affairs  of  men  in  the  days  of  the  old 
frontier  in  and  about  Momence.  Such  has 
been  the  case  in  all  lands  and  in  all  places  be- 
fore society  crystallized  sufficiently  to  estab- 
lish law  and  order.  When  these  men  who 
knew  no  law  let  down  in  the  strenuous  life, 
as  was  often  the  case,  and  sought  the  socia- 
bility of  the  border  grog  shops  and  gambling 
dens  of  the  little  river  town  of  Momence  on 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE 


the  Kankakee,  it  may  well  be  surmised  that 
"the  lid,"  as  we  say  in  this  day,  was  not  mere- 
ly tilted  to  a  comfortable  angle,  but  removed 
entirely — thrown  in  the  river.,  Come  to  think 
of  it,  Momence  had  no  such  thing  as  "a  lid" 
until  long  after  these  frontier  types  had  pass- 
ed on.  Ah,  but  those  were  wild  and  tumultuous 
days  and  nights  in  the  old  town  'round  about 
1849  and  for  many  years  thereafter !  Coureurs 
de  bois,  voyageurs,  Indians,  trappers,  hunters, 
gamblers,  thieves,  spotters — all  the  riff-raff  of 
the  wide,  wide  wilderness  mingled  indiscrim- 
inately in  the  public  houses,  all  more  or  less 
sodden  with  whiskey.  These  men  of  the  bord- 
er who  endured  much  and  worked  hard,  also 
played  hard  once  the  notion  struck  them. 

There  were  men  who,  after  having  spent 
days  in  these  Bacchanlian  orgies,  shouldered 
their  packs  and  hit  the  up-river  trails  to  some 
lone  cabin  set  in  a  bayou,  were  never  heard 
from  again.  There  were  feuds  in  the  old  days 
and  the  penalty  of  a  wrong  was  death!  The 
answer  to  many  a  disappearance  would  have 
been  the  echo  of  a  rifle  shot — a  dull  splash  in 
the  river.  The  woods  never  babble  of  the 
secrets  they  hold  and  the  river,  undisturbed, 
flows  on  and  croons  of  lighter  things  than 
death.    Only  the  unfolding  of  the  Judgment 


10  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Book  will  solve  the  mysteries  of  the  upper 
river  of  which  men  talked  and  gossiped  and 
speculated  and  then — forgot. 

According  to  the  recollection  of  some  of 
the  older  citizens  Sunday  was  not  observed 
at  all.  The  saw-mill  ran  as  usual ;  men  went 
about  their  vocations  while  horse  races,  box- 
ing bouts,  foot-races  and  fights  were  common 
Sunday  amusements.  So  absorbed  in  their  own 
affairs  and  sports  did  this  border  populace 
become,  that  they  actually  lost  track  of  the 
days  of  the  week  and  were  only  reminded  of 
Sunday  when  the  up-river  men,  who  got  out 
timber  for  Momence's  only  industry,  the  saw 
mill,  came  down  to  town  in  force  to  spend 
one  big,  glad,  riotous  day  in  seven.  All  classes 
previously  mentioned  in  this  heterogeneous 
mixture  of  frontier  types,  regarded  the  pic- 
turesque log-roller  with  feelings  of  genuine 
awe  and  respect  at  such  times  as  he  invaded 
their  precincts  and  disported  in  riotous 
abandon.  Ample  leeway  at  the  bar  was  left 
for  him ;  the  movable  articles  about  the  house 
which  would  have  proved  formidable  in  case 
of  a  rough  and  tumble,  were  shunted  into  the 
clear;  the  poker  game  retired  to  less  conspic- 
uous quarters  on  the  appearance  of  the  first 
installment  of  visiting  "lumber-jacks."     Al- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  11 

together,  the  action  was  very  much  like  when 
a  ship  battens  down  her  hatches,  trims  her 
sails  and  makes  everything  safe  and  snug  in 
the  face  of  an  approaching  squall. 

The  frontiersmen  tacitly  admitted  by 
these  acts  of  precaution  that  here  was  a  case 
where  an  irresistible  force  was  more  than  like- 
ly to  come  in  contact  with  an  immovable  body 
and,  to  avoid  the  dire  consequences  of  such 
a  clash,  they  quietly  ebbed  to  the  open  spaces 
of  the  great  out  of  doors  and  looked  on  while 
the  up-river  boys  took  over  the  place  and  pro- 
ceeded to  drink  themselves  "stone-blind."  Nu- 
merous clashes  had  taken  place  between  these 
irreconcilable  forces  of  the  frontier,  but  to  no 
purpose.  The  riverman,  cocky  and  smiling, 
flaunted  his  challenge  in  the  face  and  eyes  of 
all  comers.  His  very  presence  in  town  was  an 
invitation  to  fight.  And,  when  he  fought,  he 
was  a  human  wild-cat  who  observed  no  law  or 
rule,  but  considered  any  means  fair  that  enab- 
led him  to  vanquish  his  opponent. 

The  town  boys  recalled  only  too  bitterly 
that  their  champion  came  out  of  the  last  set- 
to  with  a  thumb  "chawed  off,"  or  nearly  so, 
and  with  one  ear  elongated  and  drooping  for 
all  the  world  like  that  of  a  "pot-lickin'  hound." 
And,  supposedly,  there  were  rules,  agreed  to 


12  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

before  hand,  governing  this  fight,  which 
Queensberry  himself  would  have  approved  of. 
Decidedly  they  were  a  bad  lot  and  not  to  be 
trusted.  For  years  the  question  of  supremacy 
was  an  open  one  with  the  odds  laying  notice- 
ably in  the  direction  of  "up-river."  In  the  ver- 
nacular of  the  old  town  of  the  border  at  a 
time  when  polished  phrase  languished  in  the 
background  and  only  vigorous,  resounding 
superlative  thrived,  these  rivermen  were  char- 
acterized as  "an  ornery,  low-lived  set,  of  the 
damndest,  most  orneriest  stripe!"  With  this 
high  and  lofty  declaration,  those  who  were 
wont  to  makei  the  old  town  ring  with  the  ech- 
oes of  their  noisy  carousal  and  mad  pranks 
during  six  days  and  nights  of  the  week,  quiet- 
ly relinquished  their  places  on  the  seventh  day 
and— the  sad  truth  must  be  admitted — hunted 
their  holes. 

They  were  gainers  in  one  respect,  how- 
ever. While  the  ancient  Chaldeans  reckon- 
ed their  time  from  the  stars,  these  old-town 
people  reckoned  theirs  from  the  day  the  riv- 
ermen "got  through  raisin'  hell!"  That  day 
was  always  Monday,  but  the  count  was  often 
hopelessly  mixed  by  the  time  next  Sunday  ar- 
rived. Do  you  wonder  that  Momence  had  a 
bad  name?  Do  you  marvel  that  the  leaven  of 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  13 

good  as  represented  by  the  few  God-fearing 
families  of  the  neighborhood  took  so  long  to 
permeate  the  mass  and  leaven  the  whole 
lump? 

Time,  no  less  than  nature,  works  his  won- 
ders. The  softening  influence  of  time  is  eas- 
ily discerned  in  the  old  town  of  today.  There 
is  a  noticeable  polish,  an  air  of  dignity,  an 
unmistakable  refinement,  an  all-pervading 
prosperousness  that  conveys  a  charming  sense 
of  poise,  serenity  and  general  well  being.  De- 
cidedly the  passing  years  have  not  been  un- 
kind. But,  at  mention  of  her  wild  and  woolly 
days,  methinks  she  stirs  uneasily  and  lifts 
a  hand  deprecatingly  as  if  to  say:  "Now,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  do  be  careful !  The  past  is  gone ; 
the  past  is  dead-— why  trouble  to  dig  it  up?" 
Why  dig  it  up  indeed?  Only  that  sometimes 
one  travels  far  from  the  beaten  paths  of  home 
to  sense  the  atmosphere  of  old  days;  to 
glimpse  the  red-blood  spirit  of  the  frontier 
before  the  iron  had  been  leached  from  it;  to 
hob-knob  with  the  shades  of  those  erstwhile 
giants  who,  standing  on  the  threshold  of  civ- 
ilization, acknowledged  God  yet  feared  no 
man. 

Momence,  then,  had  all  the  elements  that 
went)  to  make  a  border  town.    She  had  all  the 


14  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

color,  action  and  picturesqueness  so  character- 
istic of  border  days  when  law  was  a  myth,  re- 
straint unknown  and  whose  best  man,  picked 
from  the  varied  types  of  the  wilderness,  was 
admitted  to  be  he  who  could  swear  the  loud- 
est, hit  the  hardest,  drink  the  most  liquor  and 
owned  the  best  "race  hoss."  By  degrees  we 
have  sought  to  bring  the  reader  to  a  realiza- 
tion that  Momence,  way,  way  back,  in  the 
times  of  the  brush  and  the  big  timber,  was 
about  as  tough  as  the  toughest  of  them.  The 
fact  that  it  was  tough  is  not  a  pleasing  recom- 
mendation altogether.  It  should  not  be  gath- 
ered from  these  remarks  that  we  would  glor- 
ify the  fact  unduly.  No,  indeed !  We  are  con- 
tent to  follow  in  the  wake  of  others  who  have 
served  mankind  by  immortalizing  the  bold 
deeds  of  the  border  in  song,  and  verse,  and 
story.  Therefore,  to  this  end,  the  shades  of 
old-time  traditions,  once  rich  and  colorful  that 
still  lurk,  phantom-like,  on  the  borderland  of 
memory — faded,  shadowy,  indistinct  in  the 
deepening  twilight  of  oblivion,  have  been  be- 
sought to  tell  their  story — just  this  once. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  15 

"THE  UPPER  CROSSING  ON  THE 
KANKAKEE" 

"So  come,  good  men  who  toil  and  tire, 
Who  smoke  and  sip  the  kindly  cup, 
Ring  round  about  the  tavern  fire 
Ere  yet  you  drink  your  liquor  up; 
And  hear  my  simple  tales  of  earth, 
Of  youth  and  truth  and  living  things; 
Of  poverty  and  proper  mirth, 
Of  rags  and  rich  imaginings." 

— Robert  W.  Service. 

There  is  no  spot  in  all  eastern  Illinois 
more  redolent  of  memories  of  frontier  days 
than  that  spot  known  as  the  "Metcalf  Farm," 
situated  one  mile  east  of  the  present  city  of 
Momence  on  the  Kankakee  River.  Here  the 
first  white  settlement  in  Eastern  Illinois  took 
place  as  far  back  as  ninety  years  ago,  all  be- 
cause a  well  defined  Indian  trail  dipped  down 
the  north  bank  to  the  river  and  emerged  again 
on  the  south  bank,  indicating  to  the  solitary 
trapper  with  his  pack  or  the  lone  pioneer 
traveler  with  his  ox  team  that  here  was  a  safe 
and  convenient  ford.  Scarcely  a  mile  away 
to  the  southwest  on  the  river  where  the  city 
of  Momence  of  today  is  located,  were  two 
other  fords  thirty  rods  apart  where  the  lime- 
stone "hog-back"  of  the  river  bed  lifted  suffi- 
ciently to  make  transportation  easy  and  safe. 


16  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Three  ideal  fording  places  located  within 
a  mile  was  something  very  unusual.  Nature 
truly  was  prodigal  with  her  favors  in  this 
as  well  as  other  respects.  A  convenient  river 
ford  in  the  old  wilderness  days  was  quite  as 
important  an  adjunct  to  a  locality  as  the  rail- 
road afterwards  became.  All  lines  of  travel 
north  and  south  of  the  river  converged  to- 
wards this  segment  of  the  Kankakee  with  its 
three  fords.  Chicago  was  the  objective  of 
the  frontiersman  from  the  Danville  country, 
from  the  region  of  Vincennes,  Indiana,  and 
the  Wabash  country  of  central  Indiana.  Dur- 
ing the  thirties,  the  forties  and  the  early  fif- 
ties the  stream  of  travel  to  and  from  the  grow- 
ing metropolis  of  Chicago  grew  in  volume. 
Mainly  these  travelers  used  the  ford  nearest 
the  Indiana  state-line  and  called  it  the  "Up- 
per Crossing,"  thus  distinguishing  it  from  the 
two  farther  west  at  Momence. 

In  March  of  1831,  when  Cook  county  was 
organized,  its  southern  boundary  was  the 
Kankakee  River  and  its  eastern  boundary  the 
Indiana  state-line.  In  the  year  1833  Chicago 
voted  to  incorporate  as  a  village,  and  in  the 
fall  of  that  same  year  the  settlement  at  "Up- 
per Crossing"  was  inaugurated.  The  first 
house  built  in  what  is  now  eastern  Kankakee 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  17 

county  was  on  the  farm  since  owned  by  Silas 
Metcalf ,  located  on  the  north  side  of  the  river. 
It  was  a  log  house  and  was  situated  east  of 
the  present  orchard.  It  was  built  by  William 
Lacy.  Lacy  came  from  Danville,  Illinois,  with 
James  VanKirk,  who  drove  from  Danville 
settlement  to  Chicago  with  a  load  of  produce. 

The  quartering  of  a  large  number  of  sol- 
diers in  Chicago  incident  to  the  Black  Hawk 
war,  made  provisions  scarce  and  dear  at  that 
point  and  this  induced  VanKirk  and  Lacy  to 
brave  the  privations  and  dangers  of  an  over- 
land trip  through  the  almost  unknown  coun- 
try. Both  VanKirk  and  Lacy  were  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  beauty  and  natural  advan- 
tages of  this  site  on  the  Kankakee  and,  on 
their  return,  they  stopped.  As  related,  Lacy 
built  the  cabin  on  the  Metcalf  place  and  staid 
there  during  the  winter.  Mr.  VanKirk  started 
a  cabin  on  the  head  of  the  island  nearby  and 
carried  up  the  walls  almost  to  the  roof  when 
he  departed.  He  expected  to  return  the  fol- 
lowing year  and  perfect  his  claim  but,  for 
some  reason  did  not  do  so.  Lacy  sold  his  claim 
a  year  or  two  later  and  thus  failed  to  become 
a  permanent  resident  of  the  settlement  of 
which  he  was  the  founder. 


18  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

During  the  course  of  the  years  the  settle- 
ment at  "Upper  Crossing"  attracted  a  dwel- 
ler now  and  then  until  by  1845,  it  is  said,  there 
were  as  many  as  ten  or  a  dozen  families  lo- 
cated there  whose  numbers  were  about  even- 
ly divided  between  the  north  and  south  banks 
of  the  river.  During  these  years  "Upper 
Crossing"  was  variously  known  as  "West- 
port,"  "Hill's  Ford,"  and  later,  when  Dr.  David 
Lynds  was  given  the  postoffice,  as  "Lorain." 
There  is  a  wide  difference  of  opinion  or  mem- 
ory as  to  the  old  settlement.  By  some  it  is 
contended  that  there  was  scarcely  anything 
there  besides  the  tavern,  while  others  are 
equally  positive  that  there  were  twelve  to  fif- 
teen houses  on  the  two  sides  of  the  river. 
There  were  several  stores  in  the  early  days. 
Elon  Curtis  clerked  in  one  of  them,  a  place 
kept  by  a  man  by  the  name  of  Glover.  Allen 
Rakestraw,  widely  known  as  "Old  Dime," 
from  his  closeness  in  financial  matters,  kept 
a  dram  shop.  There  was  also  a  blacksmith 
shop.  The  father  of  Dr.  M.  D.  Green  was  al- 
so the  gunsmith.  Louis  Buffington  kept  a 
tailor  shop.  Joseph  VanKirk  kept  a  hotel  on 
the  north  side  of  the  river  for  a  while.  The 
old  settlers  of  Yellowhead  maintain  that  it 
was  the  principal  trading  point  from  about 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  19 

1840  to  1848  and,  in  that  event,  it  must  have 
been  quite  a  hamlet.  The  place  had  a  bridge, 
built  in  1842  which  lasted  until  1846.  Another 
was  built  which  went  out  in  the  spring  of 
1849. 

In  1834  Asher  Sargeant  built  the  first 
habitation,  a  double  log  cabin  at  the  island 
ford  a  mile  to  the  southwest  of  the  "Upper 
Crossing"  and  thus  unconsciously  acquired 
fame  as  the  original  settler  of  the  present  day 
municipality  of  Momence.  He  was  the  first 
store  keeper  at  this  point  for,  in  one-half  of 
the  cabin,  he  established  a  small  grocery  whose 
principal  articles  of  trade  were  whiskey  and 
tobacco.  As  Newell  Beebe  expressed  it,  "they 
were  the  cheap  products  of  the  country." 
Asher  Sargeant  was  followed  by  his  brother 
Enoch,  who  came  in  1835  accompanied  by  a 
man  by  the  name  of  McKibben.  These  three, 
then,  were  the  original  first  settlers  at  Mo- 
mence, within  the  present  city  limits. 

The  double  log  house  erected  by  Asher 
Sargeant,  as  nearly  as  can  be  ascertained  at 
this  late  day,  stood  somewhere  between  the 
old  Worcester  and  Lane  hall  and  the  residence 
of  P.  J.  Cleary,  probably  where  the  alley  now 
te  between  Range  and  Pine  streets,  just  north 
of  the  river. 


20  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

As  there  were  neither  roads  nor  streets 
nor  alleys  in  that  day  its  exact  location  would 
now  be  difficult  to  determine.  There  seems  to 
have  been  a  question  in  the  minds  of  the  old- 
er settlers  as  to  the  year  Asher  Sargeant 
built  his  cabin  on  the  Kankakee.  John  Smith, 
of  Sherburnville,  says  that  he  came  to  this 
region  with  his  parents  in  October,  1835,  cross- 
ing the  river  at  the  present  site  of  Momence. 
They  stopped  with  Asher  Sargeant  who  was 
living  in  the  house  at  that  time.  He  thinks 
1834  is  the  probable  date  of  its  erection. 

Asher  Sargeant  also  built  a  saw-mill  near- 
by. Some  think  the  saw-mill  was  the  first 
building  put  up.  It  is  quite  certain,  however, 
that  the  saw-mill  was  not  built  until  1837  or 
1838.  Mr.  Smith  says  the  saw-mill  was  not 
there  at  the  time  of  his  arrival.  William  Par- 
ish says  that  the  Sargeant  house  had  "pun- 
cheon" or  hewed  floors,  which  would  not  have 
been  the  case  had  Sargeant  built  the  mill 
first.  Mr.  Parish  had  a  lively  recollection  of 
attending  a  dance  at  the  Sargeant  home  and 
of  getting  splinters  in  his  bare  feet  from  the 
floor  while  dancing.  The  cotillion  was  halted 
while  William  sat  down  and  extracted  them. 
Several  deep  seated  slivers  required  the  serv- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  21 

ices  of  his  lady  to  successfully  extract,  where- 
upon the  dance  was  resumed. 

About  1838,  Asher  Sargeant  erected  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  first  mill  for  grinding  corn 
in  this  part  of  the  country.  This  mill  was  built 
on  the  farm  now  owned  by  John  H.  Nichols, 
one  and  a  half  miles  northeast  of  Momence,  on 
Trim  Creek.  The  site  was  about  a  half  mile 
east  of  Hubbard's  trail,  and  a  mile  north  of 
Hill's  Tavern  and  the  location  of  the  first 
postoffice,  Lorain.  A  dam  was  built  across  the 
creek  to  hold  water  for  power,  and  a  canal 
was  dug  about  80  rods  from  a  bend  in  the 
creek  to  the  mill.  This  canal  is  plainly  to  be 
seen  today.  Also  some  of  the  timbers  of  the 
old  dam  such  as  mud-sills  are  embedded  in  the 
bottom  of  the  creek  and  are  in  a  good  state 
of  preservation.  The  mill  was  abandoned 
about  the  time  the  mill  was  erected  in  Mo- 
mence in  1843,  on  account  of  lack  of  power. 
The  grinding  buhrs  were  cast  aside  and  laid 
near  the  road  for  years,  finally  being  sold  and 
taken  to  Lowell,  Indiana,  where  they  were 
used  in  a  mill  for  years. 

The  second  house  to  be  built  in  Momence 
was  also  a  log  structure  but  the  name  of  the 
builder  is  lost  to  us.    Matt  Anderson  and  Isaac 


22 


TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


Gray  lived  in  it, 
however,  while 
they  were  em- 
ployed at  the 
saw-mill. 

In  1836  A.  S. 
Vail  and  Orson 
Beebe,  who  came 
to  the  Beebe 
Grove  settle- 
ment near  Crete, 
Illinois,  in  1835, 
moved  on  to  the 
Kankakee.  As 
they  surmount- 
ed the  hill  north 

Oliver  Beebe  sat  in  this  Chair  and  of  Momence  Mr. 
Drove  his  Team  from  Vermont  to  the  u  •]  pnT.onfllT.pH 
Kankakee.  He  was  an  Uncle  of  Judge  v  ail>  enraptured 
Orson  Beebe.  The  Board  in  the  Cen-  by  the  marvel- 
ter  is  what  is  Known  as  a  "Shake."  « 

Judge  Orson  Beebe  Placed  it  There  OUS  panorama  01 
to  Rest  his  Head  on  When  he  Slept.  rJoincj  onrl  xxmnAo 
There  is  a  Tradition  That  Governor  Plains  ana  WOOdS 
Skinner,  of  Vermont,  Once  Owned  it.  through  which 
It  is  naw  in  the  Possession  of  Miss  fhprivprtnnVit? 
Lucy  Day,  of  Redlands,  California.       ine  nver  ™0K  l^S 

leisurely,  wind- 
ing way,  exclaimed:  "Here  is  where  I  stay!" 
There  was  the  ring  of  prophesy  in  his  words. 
He  lived  to  see  the  wilderness  of  that  day  give 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  23 

way  to  beautiful  homes  and  growing  crops. 
A  kindly  providence  vouchsafed  to  him  the 
rare  privilege  of  living  to  be  a  centenarian— 
almost.  To  him,  by  natural  selection,  per- 
haps, fell  the  honor  of  being  the  town's  histor- 
ian and  arbiter  of  moot  questions  of  names 
and  dates  and  facts  involving  the  settlers 
thereabouts.  How  rare  a  quality  is  that  which 
remembers  when  most  of  the  world  forgets! 
His  rare  memory  supplied  the  newspaper  man 
with  many  a  story  of  old  days  now  and  then. 
The  high  school  student  of  later  days  sought 
him  out  and  chronicled  in  an  essay  or  school 
paper  some  interesting  experience  of  wilder- 
ness days.  At  public  gatherings,  when  the 
pioneers  came  together,  "Uncle  Sid"  was  the 
moving  spirit,  the  recognized  leader  in  re- 
counting those  interesting  experiences  with 
which  the  lives  of  the  pioneers  were  filled. 

Save  for  a  chance  newspaper  article  that 
has  survived,  a  high  school  year  book,  found 
now  and  then,  with  data  of  the  past  preserv- 
ed therein,  the  memory  of  the  older  citizens 
who  enjoyed  the  rare  privilege  of  listening 
to  "Uncle  Sid"  Vail  constitutes  the  only  source 
of  information  in  this  day.  Oh,  that  some 
early-day  scribe  with  note-book  and  pencil  had 
shadowed  "Uncle  Sid"  and  recorded  his  utter- 


24  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

ances  with  the  same  persistent  fidelity  with 
which  Boswell  pursued  Dr.  Johnson. 

The  third  house  built  in  Momence  was 
on  the  south  side  of  the  river  and  was  put 
up  by  A.  S.  Vail  and  Judge  Orson  Beebe.  It 
was  located  a  few  rods  west  of  where  the  Chi- 
cago &  Eastern  Illinois  railroad  bridge  now 
is,  not  far  from  the  South  channel  of  the 
river.  It  was  a  double  log?  cabin  of  goodly  di- 
mensions and,  on  its  completion,  the  builders 
engaged  in  the  tavern  business.  Theirs  was 
the  first  regularly  established  tavern  in  Mo- 
mence. 

Mr.  Vail  and  Mr.  Beebe  bought  the  land 
on  which  the  business  section  of  Momence 
stands  today  for  $220  in  gold.  They  held  pos- 
session of  this  tract  for  eight  years  and  then 
lost  it  by  a  "float."  The  peculiar  designation 
of  "float"  was  applied  to  certain  awards  of 
land  to  members  of  the  Prairie  Band  of  the 
Pottawattomi  under  the  treaty  of  1833,  where- 
by they  ceded  their  lands  generally  to  the 
United  States.  Those  Indians  to  whom  a  land 
award  was  made  by  the  government,  had  the 
privilege  of  making  their  selection  wherever 
they  chose  after  the  survey  of  these  lands 
had  been  completed,  provided,  of  course,  that 
the  land  thus  chosen  had  not  been  previously 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  25 

entered.  This  privilege  was  what  was  term- 
ed "a  float  title."  The  claim  purchased  by  Mr. 
Vail  and  Mr.  Beebe  had  been  guaranteed  to 
be  free  from  "floats,"  but  it  was  afterwards 
ascertained  that  an  Indian  "float"  had  been 
located  on  the  land.  In  consequence  of  this 
they  lost  their  claims  and  the  only  benefit  they 
derived  from  eight  years'  occupation  of  the 
land  was  the  use  of  it  and  the  house  which 
stood  upon  it. 

The  first  frame  house  built  within  the 
present  limits  of  Momence  was  by  Chauncey 
Chipman,  probably  about  the  year  1841  or 
1842.  As  nearly  as  can  be  ascertained  now  it 
was  erected  on  the  east  side  of  Range  street, 
not  far  from  Second,  probably  on  the  lot  own- 
ed by  N.  Cantway,  north  of  the  old  Knighthart 
livery  stable.  In  the  opinion  of  Newell  Beebe 
it  was  the  fourth  house  to  be  built  within  the 
present  limits.  It  was  built  before  Dr.  Todd 
platted  the  town  of  Momence.  L.  D.  Edwards, 
who  came  here  in  1843,  says  that  the  house 
was  standing  then  and  is  the  same  house  that 
now  stands  on  the  lot.  This,  then,  is  the  old- 
est house  in  Momence,  the  prior  log  struct- 
ures having  long  since  disappeared. 

Messrs.  Vail  and  Beebe  did  a  good  busi- 
ness with  their  tavern  notwithstanding  only  a 


26  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

mile  away  at  the  "Upper  Crossing/'  the  fam- 
ous Boniface,  Robert  Hill,  held  forth  at  "Hill's 
Tavern."  Prior  to  1833  and  up  until  the  late 
sixties  these  fords  were  made  use  of  by  the 
settlers  in.  Eastern  Illinois  south  of  the  river 
and  those  of  south-western  Indiana  who  haul- 
ed their  produce  to  Chicago.  Year  by  year  this 
travel  was  augmented  by  thousands  of  immi- 
grants moving  into  the  west.  Mr.  Parish  says 
that  he  has  beheld  more  than  a  hundred  wag- 
on outfits  camped  on  the  river  at  Momence 
in  a  single  evening.  It  was  a  delightful  spot 
in  the  old  days  and,  apparently,  caught  the 
fancy  of  all  who  came  that  way. 

About  1845  a  good  deal  of  travel  from 
central  western  Indiana  began  to  be  diverted 
from  the  "Upper  Crossing"  to  Momence  by 
way  of  still  another  ford  on  the  Kankakee, 
that  known  as  "The  Day  Ford,"  situated  a 
mile  or  two  north-east  of  the  village  of  Aroma 
Park.  Principally  these  were  frontier  farm- 
ers from  Indiana  hauling  their  produce  to 
Chicago  who  found  they  were  thus  enabled  to 
avoid  many  miles  of  heavy,  sandy  road,  by 
cutting  across  the  Chicago-Vincennes  Road  to 
this  ford  where  they  crossed  the  Kankakee 
and  followed  the  trail  around  to  Momence.  In 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  27 

the  course  of  the  years  many  hundreds  of 
teams  came  by  this  route. 

Luther  Gleason  tells  an  interesting  story 
of  the  days  when  he  was  a  little  boy  living  on 
the  prairie  farm  that  fronted  the  river  in  the 
segment  between  Aroma  Park  and  East 
Court  Street  bridge,  not  far  from  the  "Day 
Ford/'  Many  Indiana  farmers  used  to  cross 
here  on  their  way  to  Chicago  with  loads 
of  apples.  It  was  along  in  1848  during  the 
Zachary  Taylor  campaign,  and  the  older 
members  of  the  family  used  to  put  him  up  to 
hurrah  for  Taylor  at  such  times  as  the  apple 
wagons  passed  by.  The  result  was  that  Tay- 
lor being  very  popular  as  a  presidential  can- 
didate among  the  Indianaians,  they  would  in- 
variably throw  out  a  liberal  quantity  of  apples 
as  they  passed  in  evidence  of  friendly  appre- 
ciation. Mr.  Gleason  says  that  one  day  a  lone 
apple  wagon  came  by  and,  after  he  had  duly 
hurrahed  for  Taylor,  the  driver  of  the  team 
stopped  suddenly  and  asked:  "what  for?"  And 
the  boy,  somewhat  abashed  and  confused  at 
the  unexpected  query,  replied  truthfully  but 
haltingly,  "For  Apples." 

"Upper  Crossing,"  be  it  known,  was  fa- 
mous in  a  way  long  before  William  Lacy  and 
James  VanKirk  settled  there  in  1833.    The 


28  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

"Crossing,"  so  far  as  the  white  man's  activi- 
ties are  concerned,  dates  back  into  the  gray 
shadows  of  the  past  for  more  than  a  century. 
If  Momence  citizens  were  disposed  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  opportunity  thus  presented 
to  stress  the  historical  importance  of  the  place 
as  well  as  that  of  deserted  "Upper  Crossing" 
at  the  Metcalf  farm,  they  could  give  us  an 
historical  pageant  that  would  be  well  worth 
anyone's  time  to  witness. 

That  "Iron  Man"  of  the  frontier,  Gurdon 
S.  Hubbard,  together  with  Noel  LeVasseur, 
Dominique  Bray,  Victor  Porthier,  Jacques 
Jombeaux,  Antoine  Bourbonnais  and  others 
inaugurated  the  "Hubbard  Trace"  between 
the  little  trading  post  of  "Bunkum,"  on  the 
Iroquois  river,  and  South  Water  Street,  which 
is  only  another  name  for  Chicago  of  the  fron- 
tier. This  was  done  in  the  year  1824,  more 
than  one  hundred  years  ago,  nine  years  be- 
fore the  settlement  at  "the  Crossing"  in  1833. 
The  "Hubbard  Trace"  made  use  of  this  cross- 
ing. It  was  a  day  when  the  Indian  villages 
of  the  Pottawattomi,  hunters,  trappers  and 
traders  with  their  strings  of  pack-horses, 
coureurs  du  bois  and  an  occasional  voyageur 
clad  in  the  picturesque  attire  of  the  border, 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  29 

crossed  and  recrossed  the  Kankakee  at  this 
ford. 

This  famous  trail,  first  blazed  by  Gurd- 
on  S.  Hubbard  from  Chicago  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  south-east  of  Danville,  was  later 
used  in  part  when  the  Illinois  State  Assembly 
authorized  the  Chicago-Vincennes  Road  to  be 
located  in  1833-4.  That  part  of  the  road  north 
from  Danville  to  Chicago  was  followed  by  the 
commissioners  with  but  little  variation,  for 
the  line  was  direct  and  followed  the  high 
ground.  The  Assembly  ordered  this  road  to 
be  marked,  at  intervals  of  one  mile  with  num- 
bered milestones,  beginning  at  Vincennes. 
Probably  the  only  stone  now  extant  between 
Danville  and  Chicago  is  that  which  now  stands 
in  front  of  the  John  Nichols  home  two  miles 
north  of  "Upper  Crossing."  It  is  the  179th 
milestone.  It  is  in  a  good  state  of  preserva- 
tion and  has  been  guarded  with  jealous  care 
by  the  Nichols  family  for  many  years.  For 
years  this  stone  stood  in  the  field  and  was 
subsequently  removed  to  the  roadside,  a  few 
rods  to  the  west. 

This  "Trace"  instituted  by  Hubbard  in 
1824  furnished  a  much  more  direct  and  con- 
venient method  of  communication  between  the 
posts  of  the  fur  country  and  headquarters  at 


30 


TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


AN  ANCIENT  MILE-STONE 
About  the  only  Remaining  Stone  Which 
Marked  the  Chicago- Vincennes  Trail  in 
1834.  It  is  Stone  179,  and  Stands  Opposite 
the  Home  of  Mrs.  Malinda  Nichols,  North- 
east of  Momence. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  31 

Chicago.  By  means  of  the  pack-horse  the 
season's  furs  were  easily  transported,  where- 
as before,  the  pack  had  been  freighted  out  by 
means  of  boats.  Traversing  the  Iroquois  and 
the  Kankakee  to  the  DesPlaines  was  not  so 
bad,  generally,  but  in  times  of  low  water  in 
the  DesPlaines  and  "Mud  Lake,"  the  men  were 
often  obliged  to  work  all  day  in  water  up  to 
their  waists.  Transporting  supplies  to  and 
from  the  interior  by  this  primitive  means  was 
an  exhausting,  heart-breaking  experience  at 
best.  From  1824  as  long  as  Hubbard  oper- 
ated in  the  country,  every  pelt  from  the  Iro- 
quois and  the  Kankakee  and  the  nearby  In- 
diana marshes,  went  into  Chicago  on  the  back 
of  a  pack-horse. 

In  the  winter  of  1830-31,  a  winter  remem- 
bered among  the  pioneers  for  its  heavy  snow 
and  intense  cold,  Hubbard  undertook  to  drive 
a  bunch  of  hogs  which  he  had  picked  up  along 
the  trail  from  Danville  to  old  "Bunkum,"  to 
Chicago.  There  was  snow  on  the  ground  to 
the  depth  of  seven  inches  when  he  started.  It 
took  him  several  days  to  reach  the  "Upper 
Crossing  on  the  Kankakee  with  his  herd.  He 
pitched  his  camp  on  the  south  bank  in  a  hol- 
low that  afforded  some  protection  from  the 
wind.    The  snow  was  slushy  and  a  fine  rain 


32  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

had  set  in  as  the  men  turned  in  for  the  night, 
During  the  night  it  turned  colder  and,  on 
awakening  in  the  morning  the  men  found 
their  clothing  frozen  fast  to  the  ground  so 
that  they  extricated  themselves  with  difficul- 
ty. It  was  very  cold  and  snowing  heavily,  so 
the  hogs  were  rounded  up  in  the  deep  snow 
in  the  hollow  where  the  men  had  bivouaced 
and  left  to  shift  for  themselves. 

Hubbard  crossed  the  river  and  went  in 
search  of  Chief  Yellowhead's  camp  up  at  the 
present  Yellowhead  Point,  which  he  was  suc- 
cessful in  finding  in  spite  of  the  storm  which 
raged  furiously.  Here  also  he  found  his  old 
friend,  the  half-breed,  Billy  Caldwell,  a  bro- 
ther-in-law of  Yellowhead,  who  had  his  tepee 
pitched  close  by.  Hubbard  was  welcomed  by 
Caldwell  with  true  aboriginal  hospitality,  and 
during  the  two  days  that  the  storm  raged  he 
remained,  meanwhile  drinking  prodigious 
quantities  of  tea  brewed  by  Caldwell's  squaw. 

When  the  drive  with  the  hogs  was  again 
resumed  the  snow  was  two  feet  deep  on  a 
level,  and  in  some  places  had  drifted  over  the 
trail  to  a  depth  of  five  or  six  feet.  The  wag- 
ons that  carried  the  feed  for  the  animals  broke 
out  a  partial  trail  but  the  drifts  had  to-be 
shoveled  out.    Naturally  progress  was  slow. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  33 

Hubbard  said  that  it  took  Thirty  Days  to  go 
from  the  Kankakee  river  to  Chicago  with  that 
drove  of  hogs,  such  being  the  difficulties  en- 
countered on  the  way.  He  slaughtered  such 
as  remained  of  the  herd  on  his  arrival  in  Chi- 
cago and  disposed  of  the  carcasses. 

On  the  return  trip  it  took  ten  days  to 
come  as  far  as  the  "Upper  Crossing"  on  the 
Kankakee.  The  ice  and  drifts  and  the  cold 
were  so  great  as  to  thus  impede  the  progress 
of  empty  wagons.  Again  they  were  obliged  to 
shovel  their  way  through  great  drifts  to  en- 
able the  wagons  to  pass.  It  was  a  bitter  night 
when  the  Kankakee  was  reached.  The  river 
was  high  and  filled  with  floating  ice.  The 
great  box  of  the  Pennsylvania  wagon  was  re- 
moved and  its  openings  chinked  with  snow 
over  which  water  was  poured  which  froze 
instantly  and  made  it  water  tight.  Harness, 
blankets  and  utensils  were  loaded  into  this 
improvised  boat  and,  with  the  men,  were  safe- 
ly transferred  to  the  opposite  bank.  But  the 
horses  had  to  swim  for  it.  Altogether,  the 
time  consumed  for  that  round  trip  from 
"Bunkum"  post  on  the  Iroquois  to  Chicago 
and  back,  a  distance  of  about  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles,  was  near  fifty  days.  While  that 
constitutes  pretty  nearly  a  record  for  time 


34  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

consumed  in  making  a  short  trip,  the  out- 
standing feature  is  the  spirit  of  hardihood  on 
the  part  of  those  who  persevered  and  by 
sheer  endurance  and  grit  triumphed  finally 
over  the  elements. 

The  hogs  that  made  up  this  drove  of  Hub- 
bard's in  1830  were  not  comparable  to  those 
marketed  in  this  day.  As  a  pioneer  expressed 
it,  those  old-time  hogs  were  range  hogs  and 
used  to  hustling  for  a  living.  They  were 
large  in  body,  with  long  legs  and  seldom  or 
never  fat.  Apparently  they  were  built  for 
speed  and  endurance,  and  at  that  not  all  of 
the  herd  with  which  Hubbard  started  for  Chi- 
cago, survived  the  hardships  of  the  trip.  Ne- 
cessity was  the  spur  by  which  our  pioneer 
fathers  were  urged  to  attempt  the  unusual. 
Hardship  and  personal  discomfort  and  suf- 
fering did  not  particularly  matter  IF  THE 
THING  COULD  BE  DONE. 

That  piece  of  road  which  leads  from  the 
river  bank  on  the  north  side  passing  the  Met- 
calf  home  and  continuing  north  for  thirty  or 
forty  rods  to  the  Buntain  corner,  is  actual 
Hubbard  Trail,  in  the  main.  It  is  historic 
ground.  For  most  people  the  imagination  fails 
in  its  efforts  to  picture  the  strange  frontier 
types  that  thronged  it  in  the  early  twenties 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  35 

and  thirties.  For  the  most  part  the  enormous 
import  of  that  slow  moving  panorama  in 
which  is  pictured  the  ox  teams  and  covered 
wagons  of  the  forties  and  fifties,  is  lost  to  us 
today.  But  the  fact  remains  that  the  "Up- 
per Crossing/'  deserted  though  it  is  in  this 
day  and  devoid  of  even  the  semblance  of  a  set- 
tlement, was  the  gateway  through  which 
those  builders  of  the  great  middle  west 
thronged. 


36  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

THE  NAMING  OF  MOMENCE 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Momence  was  nam- 
ed eighty-one  years  ago,  ten  years  after  Asher 
Sargeant  drifted  in  over  the  lower  ford  and 
reared  the  first  white  man's  habitation  with- 
in the  present  city  limits.  This  spot  which 
was  destined  to  become  Momence,  although 
attracting  a  settler  now  and  then,  had  no  name 
at  all  from  1834  up  until  1841  or  1842.  In 
one  or  the  other  of  those  years  A.  S.  Vail  re- 
ceived the  appointment  as  postmaster  and,  as 
a  name  for  the  office  then  became  an  abso- 
lute necessity,  he  christened  the  office  "Lor- 
ain," in  honor  of  his  sister-in-law,  Miss  Lorain 
Beebe,  sister  of  Judge  Orson  Beebe  and  New- 
ell Beebe.  This  first  postoffice  of  Lorain  was 
kept  in  a  small  building  which  Mr.  Vail  also 
used  as  a  residence,  located  west  of  the  pre- 
sent Paradis  wagon  shops  not  far  from  the 
river  between  Front  Street  and  River  Street. 

The  ford  at  the  Metcalf  farm  a  mile  east 
was  much  more  fortunate  in  the  matter  of 
distinguishing  titles.  Originally  it  was  known 
as  the  "Upper  Crossing,"  "Hill's  Ford,"  "West- 
port"  and  later  as  "Lorain"  when  congress- 
man "Long  John"  Wentworth,  on  discovering 
that  Mr.  Vail  was  a  Whig,  searched  out  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  37 

only  democrat  in  the  community  capable  of 
conducting  the  office,  Dr.  David  Lynds,  and 
made  him  postmaster.  Dr.  Lynds  lived  in  the 
near  vicinity  of  the  "Upper  Crossing/'  some- 
where near  to  where  the  Tiffany  Brick  Works 
are  today,  and,  after  his  appointment  he  mov- 
ed the  office  to  his  home.  The  name  "Lorain" 
could  not  be  improved  upon  in  the  opinion  of 
the  Doctor,  for  he  had  become  the  husband  of 
Miss  Lorain  Beebe  in  the  meantime.  So,  for- 
saking all  other  titles  by  which  the  settlement 
at  the  "Upper  Crossing"  had  been  known  since 
1833,  it  gladly  blossomed  out  as  "Lorain,"  and 
by  that  name  it  is  known  unto  this  day  by  the 
older  inhabitants.  The  incipient  settlement 
only  a  mile  away,  first  known  as  "Lorain," 
thus  robbed  of  its  importance,  waited  in  name- 
less obscurity  for  that  great  event — a  real 
birth  as  an  industrial  community  which  took 
place  in  1844. 

Regarding  the  name  "Momence,"  there 
has  been  a  notable  conflict  of  opinion  regard- 
ing its  origin  among  the  elders  of  the  com- 
munity. It  is  strange  how  the  important  de- 
tails of  this  backwoods  christening  failed  to 
register  in  the  memory  of  that  day.  Hiram 
W.  Beckwith,  of  Danville,  who  is  well  known 
for  his  writings  of  the  early  history  of  the 


38 


TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


IMPORTANT  TO  TOTERHlllfeS. 
FOR  SALE, 

8.000  ACHES  OP  LAND,  all  xndiah  reservation 

BY  TBS  -POTAWATAMXE    TREATY  OF  183X 
3200  Aoxes  wore   located,  by  treaty,  on  the    ?Jcjth 

llnuk  of  «ln-  K«nknkrc  llivrr,  nl  thr  inont).  of  Itork  Creek,  in  WW  Comity,  illi- 
noi-,  for  SlmivHuni.t-.i-.-.  ..  Pnliiwnlnmi.-  fhirf.  (..  in.-lu.li-  l.i—  former  residence 
.mil  Villosc  Bod»lhn,ttlnrlv  known  •«  the  Ift.rk  Vllhtire,  or  8h«wwiii.iu>»cc  Hccr- 
ration.  It  is  situated  tcii  miles  nbovo  Wilmington,  «  llouri.hini:  Villuife  on  the 
Kanknk.c.  wherAii  IV.-.l.r  mu.t  hr  lake,  lor  llir  Mi. hiuaii  un.l  JUinuis  Cunul. 
through  which  hoi-  unit  p»«s  from  the  t'l.nal  to  ibis  place,  i 

This  trncl  hi»V  never  fnllid  to  elicit  the  i*dnt(rution 

or  nirtlwlMM-lhaJ""*'  of  some)  who  hare  vi-iic.l  tin.  eounlo  It*  .ilu.ttion  w 
.  l.-v.u,  ,1.  <lrv,  ■■mTVtuU  .lupini:  to  Ilio  lt>.  r  mid  Crock  wbiefcYlin*  through  it 
Thr  noil  U  iiiiaurp2--c4  iu  fertility  by  unj  h.tn.cn  th<-  l.rci  o  ^bmntain  nnd  the 
Mississippi  Itircff  It  .mhriirr.  iil.out  I  WO  Acre,  of  Timber  ;•  plenty  of  Lime- 
stone, of  super!*/  ninility  for  bull. liny,  and  is  well  »ntrr.-<l  by  Springs  niul  sraull 

llriiiirln  sl"..r  lli.Tcn.  .ni.  nr<-  nf k  rni-ini;.      'I'll.    Ititer  for  In.  fcly  mile-  nbovt 

un.l  I. .Ion  is  gam-mllt  ni|.i.l.  it-  hr.l  l.n.l  bunk  ol'  Limestone  sn.l  Marble,  in  ran- 
rcplihlc  ..f.'.Kt  imprint-incut  i.l  l  hi-  place,  on. I  i-  rnu-i.lcrcd  by  good  iii.lgc.,  r.iuul, 
if  not  superior'  lor  hydraulic  i.uri. ..-.-.  to  lh.it  ol'  llochostcr.  in  U.e  Ktnle  of  Sow 

ublisbcd;  hihI 
id  ft  Ion  n  will 


.....I  i 


,\ork.     Here  i-  ,J hruulilut  tonu 

upon  the  Creek  iieiir  In  i-  n  Sun-Mill  crif  led 
be  Ini.TTrat  In  hm«|  nnrt'nrlrrc.l  for  sole  lUf  rolll 

Tlic'fnrmlim;  portion  is  surveyed  into  tracts  varying 

in  size  from  30  InJIOO  ucros,  curb  bcinr>)supulied  with  limber,  and  tn*»t  of  th«a> 
.with  iiiruiiiiiMil  nuter.  \ 

IbiitliiiS  prnntu 


The  oth«-r  lands  were 

1833,  with  curl-,  au.l  upprtned  In  th 
ieetio.li  .in-  adjoining  th.  It...  k  lillug 
■  rilie  Iroimoi*  ILirr.  urn"  ' 
i»:.„_   ..i t:n..,A.:ijT:  V  .. 


f-SOUlholl 

from  Viiiernm-N'oiilTthc  lower  W 
mfr«stietfHn-ye*?nlW_i;iiri.irt.  "II 
A  ll.ini  un.l  SnwvWuVlo  irrrtrd 
erection  for  three)  run  of -ton. -.nil 
thin  poinpupwanl-i,  the  lliter  tins  no  ol. 
-icuinboiits,  for,r>Onr  !)0  mil.--,  to  nitliii 
Here  ulso  is  a  beautiful  hi-*-' Xllh 
phuticully  The  Place  for  u  ,nw 
proprietors  hn\e  re 
lu.liuu  Itcscrv 


selected  in 

at.     Three  half 


IV,  -iil.-nt   in  IVhriinrj 

let.  *J5()(>  n.r.'-.  ill  lltld.nciir  the  nmutti 
lie  In  in  I  ortlu-  IC.ipi.N^f  tboKanknfarr 
vbrn-  the  Mule  Itou.lj-ru— r»  the  Itiver 
mutrt  Iu  «  lii.oo.i.  .1  P<mU  Ortiee  i«  «•»- 
k  wilier  power  i-.pin)  to  unj  in  the  Wen. 

.1.1, .11..  ilu  -  l-iofOelober  neyt.     From 


»l.-jr 


illj  liliil  out  u  Inwiljnlled  .tlollK-nce,  the  nuine  of  the  original 
ol«  ofnliich  ure  ofirc.l  ut  private  silk,  lo^elhorwith  oil  the 
property  here  ilescribeil,in  trart»  or  i|imuAies  to  suit  pnreliiiscr-.il>  thi  SisbM-ribcr, 
who  will  be  plenvi  d  to  unswer  uiiv  Coni|iuiiieutions  on  ||:«  «ubj<x:l,  AddrHoed  to 
bim  ut  Rockrillc,  If'ill  Co«.-it»,  ItlinoiA  mi*  4-^'  ^" — ^~"\ 

•It  is  weii  known  by  those  nc. 


p.  B.-i-It  is  wei!  knowii  by  those  nc.  ^u„with 

Indiuu  Reserves,  thut  ifiey  uro  the  i  hoiraof  the  whole  Ftirrnundiog  eouolry,  bath 
us  regards  health,  un.l  beiiiity  of  locality  .un.l  ijuulity  ol'lhc  IuiiuS  whilst  every  one 
knows  the  partiality  or  the  Ahoriuince  ollaiir  eoiintry  f 
Bockciltc.   Will  Co.,  illuiou,  A      - 


^^.oj,*,.™,,. 


ili.iur  country  for  the  best  forest  Inud. 
April  pi,  1HI.V 

HEFDUEWCE8  : 

\    I        IMIOS.  C    Al.VOIlli.rv,. 
.co.  Ili.  '        CI  WM    ...101)1% 

HENDKRSON  i  Vfl^i 


This  Sale  Bill,  Gotten  out  in  1844,  by  Dr.  Hiram 

Todd,  Advertised  Lots  of  the  New  Townsite 

of  Momence  for  Sale. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  39 

state  and  especially  Eastern  Illinois,  says  the 
name  Momence  was  derived  from  "Momen- 
za/'  a  noted  Pottawattomie  chief,  the  assump- 
tion being  that  a  clerk  in  the  office  of  Indian 
affairs  at  Washington  after  wrestling  in  vain 
with  the  undecipherable  hand  writing  thus 
expressed  it.  On  the  other  hand,  A.  S.  Vail, 
who  knew  the  Indian  personally,  says  that  his 
name  was  "Mo-ness."  Dr.  Hiram  Todd,  of 
Rockville,  Illinois,  who  platted  the  original 
townsite  of  Momence  in  1844,  and  advertised 
the  same  in  1845  by  means  of  posters  (a  pho- 
tographic reproduction  of  one  of  which  is 
hereby  given),  states  specifically  that  "The 
proprietors  have  recently  laid  out  a  town 
which  they  have  called  MOMENCE,  THE 
NAME  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  INDIAN  RE- 
SERVEE!" 

What  a  conflict  of  eminent  authorities! 
Dr.  Todd,  however,  was  a  careful,  methodical 
man  of  business,  a  lawyer  and  an  Associate 
Judge  of  the  Cass  county,  Indiana  Circuit. 
From  1833  to  1843  he  had  become  the  purchas- 
er of  eight  thousand  acres  of  Indian  Reser- 
vation and  "Grant  lands"  on  the  Kankakee 
river  from  Rock  Creek  to  Momence.  He  must 
have  been  well  informed  as  to  the  particular 
treaty  of  1832  by  means  of  which  the  United 


40  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

States  government  came  into  possession  of 
the  lands  of  the  Prairie  Band  of  the  Pottawat- 
tomi  as  well  as  those  of  the  Pottawattomi 
of  lower  Michigan  and  upper  Indiana,  of 
which  "To-pen-ne-bee"  was  the  head  chief  and 
"Po-ka-gon"  second  chief.  The  treaty  itself 
throws  interesting  light  on  the  situation  since 
it  mentions  specifically  the  names  of  all  Indian 
members  to  whom  "floating  grants"  of  land 
were  made.  The  Frenchman,  Pierre  Moran, 
alias  "Peerish,"  was  a  chieftain  of  power  and 
influence  in  the  band  of  which  To-pen-ne-bee 
was  the  head.  His  half-breed  son,  "Mo-ness/' 
was  a  chief  by  reason  of  having  married  "Je- 
neir,"  the  daughter  of  a  chief.  "Je-neir,"  un- 
der the  treaty,  was  given/  a  floating  grant  for 
one  section  of  land.  The  three  half-breed  sons 
of  Pierre  Moran  were  given  a  total  of  one 
section  disposed  as  follows:  to  "Wa-be-ga," 
and  "Isadore  Mo-mence,"  one-quarter  section 
each;  to  "Saw-grets,"  one  half  section.  It  is 
a  significant  fact  that  "Mo-ness,"  the  hus- 
band of  "Je-neir,"  was  not  awarded  a  foot  of 
land  under  this  treaty. 

A  popular  historical  tradition,  however, 
credits  "Mo-ness"  with  having  received  two 
and  one-half  sections  of  land  and  that  on  the 
31st  of  July  1834,  he  gave  a  bond  to  execute 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  41 

a  deed  for  this  "float"  to  one  James  R.  Mc- 
Cord.  By  many  it  is  thought  that  McCord 
located  the  "float"  where  Momence  stands  to- 
day. McCord  never  got  his  deed  but,  instead, 
sold  his  claim  to  Todd  &  Bainbridge,  May  13, 
1843.  One  thing  is  evident;  "Mo-ness,"  be- 
yond a  doubt  gave  al  bond  for  a  deed  to  some- 
body's "float  title,"  probably  the  section 
awarded  to  his  squaw,  "Je-neir."  It  seems 
hardly  probable  that  he  took  it  upon  himself  to 
transfer  the  holdings  of  his  three  brothers, 
amounting  in  all  to  one  section.  We  repeat, 
it  seems  unlikely  that  this  was  done,  although 
many  curious  transactions  involving  the  In- 
dian and  the  white  man  have  come  to  light  now 
and  then  which  afforded  a  basis  for  serious 
legal  complications  and  long  drawn  out  liti- 
gation. This,  unfortunately,  happened  in  the 
case  of  the  titles  to  the  land  upon  which  Mo- 
mence now  stands. 

The  survey  of  the  townsite  of  Momence 
was  inaugurated  during  the  summer  of  1844 
by  Dr.  Hiram  Todd.  W.  A.  Chatfield  was  at 
that  time  building  the  flouring  mill  on  the  is- 
land. Twelve  blocks  were  laid  out  in  this  first 
survey,  bounded  on  the  north  by  Fourth 
Street,  on  the  east  by  Maple  Street,  on  the 
south  by  River  Street   and  on  the   west  by 


42  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Range  Street.  This  survey  was  made  by  Rob- 
ert J.  Boylan,  of  Joliet,  in  1844.  Joseph  Web- 
ster, later  a  resident  of  Momence,  carried  the 
chain  and  drove  the  stakes.  The  townsite  of 
Momence  was  opened  for  sale  to  the  public 
April  22, 1845,  large  posters  of  that  date,  sign- 
ed by  Hiram  Todd,  announcing  the  fact  to  the 
public  at  large.  It  is  a  significant  fact  that 
the  name  of  the  town  is  given  in  the  bills  as 
"Momence."  The  plat  of  the  townsite  was 
entered  of  record  at  Joliet,  Will  county,  in 
1846  as  "Momence." 

Mr.  Isaac  Olds,  who  worked  on  the  Chat- 
field  mill  in  1844,  gives  testimony  regarding 
the  naming  of  Momence  that  is  incontrover- 
tible. He  says:  "Dr.  Todd  gave  the  name  of 
Momence  to  the  town.  I  remember  that  he 
was  talking  about!  it  and  at  the  time  proposed 
two  names,  "Momence"  and  "Saw-grets,"  as 
nearly  as  I  can  remember.  Mrs.  Chatfield, 
who  was  present,  said :  "Doctor,  why  don't  you 
call  the  place  Toddsville?"  He  refused  the 
suggestion  and  finally  settled  upon  the  name 
"Momence."  This  illuminating  statement  by 
Mr.  Olds  clears  up  several  points  that  have 
been  more  or  less  controversial  in  the  town's 
history.  First — the  names  of  "Momence"  and 
"Saw-grets,"  between  which  Dr.  Todd  hesi- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  43 

tated  In  a  matter  of  selection,  are  the  names 
of  two  half-breed  sons  of  the  chieftain  Pierre 
Moran  who  received  "floating  grants"  to  land 
under  the  same  treaty  as  the  squaw  "Je-neir. 
Second — in  the  volume  of  Indian  treaties,  pub- 
lished by  the  United  States  Government  in 
1837,  on  page  543,  the  last  paragraph  contains 
the  names  "Isadore  Mo-mence  and  "Saw- 
grets,"  sons  of  "Pier  Moran."  The  name  Mo- 
mence,  then,  was  not  a  coined  name  as  many 
believed.  The  name  as  given  to  the  town  by 
Dr.  Todd  and  later  to  the  township,  appeared 
in  the  treaty  in  the  exact  othography  of  today, 
barring  the  elimination  of  the  hyphen  after 
the  first  syllable. 

Some  years  later,  when  the  township  of 
Ganeer  was  struck  off  from  Momence  town- 
ship, it  was  thought  to  be  the  proper  thing 
to  name  it  after  the  original  grantee,  the 
squaw  Je-neir,  whose  "floating  grant"  of  one 
section  adjoined  on  the  west  that  of  Pierre 
Moran's  three  half-breed  sons,  "Wa-be-ga," 
"Isadore  Mo-mence"  and  "Saw-grets."  These 
sections  were  divided  by  the  range  line  and 
Range  Street  which  divides  the  city  thus  de- 
rives its  significance.  Clark  Richards,  who 
made  the  first  survey  and  plat  of  the  town- 
ship, entered  the  name  as  "Ganeer."   It  went 


44  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


/         j.       j. 


"•  .v^ia* 

"f 

l 

S&eJ^v    ,-~ 

*i 

^w^^w^ 

.  1 

'  i'  (J    e.  H 

1 

jr 

ft- 

'\o 

"{       1 

L.       J*  ° 

.  je_i  <k     i 

| 

k^N 


FIRST  MAP  OF  KANKAKEE  COUNTY 

This  is  a  Reproduction  of  the  First  Map 
Ever  Made  of  Kankakee  County.  It  was  Made 
by  Clark  Richards.  It  was  Made  in  1852,  and 
Shows  the  Old  Trail  Which  ran  From  the 
Southeast  to  the  Northwest  Through  the  City 
of  Kankakee.  Iroquois  County  at  that  Time 
Came  to  the  Kankakee  River  on  the  South, 
and  Will  County  on  the  North. 

on  record  that  way  and  no  effort  ever  was 
made  to  rectify  this  lapse  in  the  expressed  or- 
thography of  the  treaty  of  1832.  It  was  a  wor- 
thy sentiment,  however,  on  the  part  of  those 
old-time  residents  of  Momence  that  sought  to 
unite  this  ancient  aboriginal  couple  in  this 
way  and  preserve  for  all  time  the  historical 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  45 

associations  suggested  by  the  names  "Mo- 
mence  and  "Je-neir."  But,  by  that  peculiar 
fatuity  which  led  them  to  regard  "Mo-ness" 
as  "Mo-men-za,"  and  finally  "Momence,"  they 
have  fallen  short  of  achieving  the  thing  they 
sought.  As  matters  stand,  the  aged  "Mo-ness 
is  in  total  eclipse;  the  youthful  half-breed 
"Momence"  is  holding  hands,  so  to  speak, 
across  an  imaginary  line  with  his  sister-in-law, 
"Je-neir,"  or  "Ganeer,"  in  modern  parlance, 
and  to  use  a  phrase  of  the  late  Stephen  R. 
Moore — "and  there  you  are !" 

Isaac  Olds  bought  the  first  town  lot  sold 
in  Momence  in  1845.  It  was  the  one  on  which 
Thomas  Hamilton  afterwards  built.  He  paid 
thirty  dollars  for  it.  The  United  States,  it  is 
said,  did  not  make  a  deed  to  "Mo-ness"  until 
February  17, 1845,  and  it  does  not  appear  that 
"Mo-ness"  ever  executed  anything  but  the 
bond  for  a  deed.  Things  went  on  in  this  man- 
ner until  April  29,  1853.  At  this  time  Johna- 
than  Crews,  a  man  who  lived  by  looking  up 
defective  Indian  titles  went  to  Arkansas  and 
got  a  deed  to  the  entire  tract  from  an  Indian 
who  claimed  to  be  the  son  and  only  living  heir 
of  Mo-ness  and  Je-neir. 

Crews  interested  Lycurgus  Sherman,  a 
banker  of  LaPorte,  Indiana,  and  others  in  his 


46  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

title,  and  then  began  the  war  over  rival  titles 
to  the  land  on  which  Momence  was  located, 
that  resulted  so  disastrously  to  the  growth 
and  development  of  the  town.  There  were 
others  angles  to  this  mix-up  of  titles  which 
tended  to  involve  the  situation  with  so  many 
complexities  that  the  matter  was  taken  to  the 
United  States  Court.  As  a  result  of  this  ac- 
tion the  United  States  Court  on  December  18, 
1864,  issued  an  order  which  perpetually  en- 
joined Crews,  Sherman,  et  al,  from  interfer- 
ing in  any  way  with  the  James  Mix  titles,  ac- 
quired through  Todd  &  Bainbridge. 

On  January  16,  1865,  a  special  deed  was 
given  Mix  by  Henry  W.  Brooks,  special  Com- 
missioner appointed  by  the  United  States 
Court.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  Momence 
property  owners  became  sure  of  their  titles 
after  teri  years  of  litigation  and  uncertainty. 
Mix  paid  the  Crews  faction  $1,000  in  consid- 
eration of  the  settlement  and  a  quit-claim 
deed.  On  account  of  the  many  flaws  contain- 
ed in  the  early  record,  and  the  fact  that  the 
United  States  Court  made  the  title  good  in 
1864,  few  abstracts  run  back  beyond  that  date, 
and  in  most  cases,  Mix  made  new  deeds  to  the 
property  already  sold. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  47 

From  1845  up  until  the  advent  of  Crews 
with  his  rival  townsite  in  1853,  Momence  en- 
joyed a  considerable  growth.  Of  the  older  in- 
habitants who  have  been  prominent  in  the 
town's  business  history,  most  of  them  came 
here  between  the  years  1849  and  1853.  M.  A. 
Atherton,  Slocum  Wilbur,  J.  L.  Clark  and  per- 
haps a  dozen  more  settled  in  the  town  between 
those  dates.  The  same  may  be  said  of  fully  a 
dozen  more  who  have  moved  away  or  gone 
to  their  long  homes.  The  return  of  the  post- 
office  from  Lorain  occurred  in  the  spring  of 
1849,  and  the  changing  of  the  name  to  Mo- 
mence, apparently  marked  the  real  beginning 
of  Momence  as  a  municipality. 


48 


TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


-     ;...,.;.- 

:■       -       :   . 

&5:-!?^S^ 

i       ^             .::      :/-C,;#|:. 

■-  %c 

t    1 

.'■■%: 

111 

>-5-  '*.J| 

TRAPPER  DAN  PARMLEE 


A  Familiar  Early-Day  Character 
About  Momence  who  had  his  Abode 
at  "The  Garden  of  Eden,"  Up-river 
Between  Momence  and  the  Indiana 
State-line. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  49 


THE  PASSING  OF  "  OLD  TRAPPER  DAN" 

Better  than  sixty  years  ago,  the  Kanka- 
kee river  from  Momence  eastward  to  the 
state-line  was  a  paradise  for  the  trapper  who 
sought  fine  furs.  It  was  more  than  a  paradise 
for  the  fisherman — it  was  Heaven,  that's  all ! 
It  was  a  favored  spot  for  that  unique  charac- 
ter of  the  frontier,  the  restless,  roving  coureur 
de  bois  who,  charmed  by  the  plentitude  of 
nature's  charms  in  this  particular  section, 
stayed  on  and  on  until  the  tradition  of  the 
rover  had  given  way  completely  to  that  of  the 
peaceful,  contented,  easy-going  habitant. 

In  this  early  day,  before  the  natural 
beauty  of  the  river  had  been  defaced  or  dis- 
torted by  the  so-called  "improvements  of 
growing  civilization,"  there  appeared  one  day 
an  old  campaigner,  black  with  the  grime  of 
the  wilderness  and  with  but  little  of  this 
world's  goods,  who,  in  his  summing  up  of  the 
beauty  of  the  situation  unconsciously  paid  tri- 
bute to  omnipotence  when  he  said :  "God  only 
made  one  country  like  this,  and  he  made  it  for 
me!"  This  is  no  idle,  extravagant  statement, 
in  proof  of  which  we  cite  the  fact  that  here, 
years  ago,  that  staunch  old  pioneer  Dan  Parm- 
lee,  located  "The  Garden  of  Eden,"  after  hav- 


50  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

ing  traversed  many  countries  and  many 
climes. 

Poor,  old,  eccentric  Dan !  He  was  not  so 
far  off  in  the  naming  the  place  at  that.  And 
how  he  loved  it !  His  castle  was  a  rude  hut  but 
a  castle  none  the  less.  A  narrow  "draw" 
which  ran  from  the  river  inland  for  a  dis- 
tance of  one  hundred  feet  or  more  enabled 
him  to  bring  his  canoe  right  up  to  the  door 
of  a  log  store-house  in  which  he  stored  his 
furs.  And  here,  at  times  when  he  felt  the 
symptoms  of  those  peculiar  "loco"  spells,  with 
which  he  was  later  in  life  beset,  he  shut  him- 
self in  with  the  furs  for  a  week  at  a  time,  a 
voluntary  prisoner  on  his  own  domain. 

In  time,  trouble  came  to  Dan,  trouble  not 
of  his  own  making.  But  whether  you  make 
your  own  trouble  or  have  it  made  for  you  it 
is  trouble  just  the  same.  "The  Garden  of 
Eden"  was  mortgaged.  It  was  a  new  phase 
of  life  for  Dan  whose  independent  nature  re- 
belled at  paying  interest,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  principal.  In  the  course  of  the  years,  this 
man  who  refused  to  take  civilization  serious- 
ly, was  haunted  by  the  spectre  of  a  bailiff 
with  foreclosure  papers.  The  bailiff,  in  turn, 
was  haunted  by  the  vision  of  old  "Dan"  him- 
self armed  with  that  long-range  rifle  of  his 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  51 

which  was  never  known  to  miss  a  target  at  one 
hundred  yards.  There  was  an  uncomprom- 
ising air  about  this  tall,  lean,  gaunt  backwoods 
figure,  a  set  expression  about  the  chin  and  the 
lower  jaw,  a  peculiar  hardness  of  the  pale 
blue  eyes  by  which  one  knew  instinctively  that 
all  overtures  for  mercy  (especially  on  the  part 
of  a  bailiff)  would  prove  fruitless  and  unavail- 
ing. 

In  the  end,  the  vision  of  the  man  with  the 
rifle  and  the  high-set  chin  prevailed.  Event- 
ually Dan  did  what  he  said  he  was  going  to 
do,  sometime — "die  there  by  God!"  At  his 
passing  the  tidings  of  the  old  man's  death 
were  first  brought  to  Momence  by  one  of  his 
own  kith  and  kin  who,  sauntering  into  the  old 
stone  saloon  on  Range  street,  responded  first 
to  an  invitation  from  the  boys  to  take  a  drink, 
after  which  he  startled  the  company  by  the 
sententious  query:  "Didyuh  hear  the  news?" 
They  had  not,  of  course.  "The  old  man's 
dead,"  he  announced  with  all  the  assurance  of 
one  who  gives  important  news  first.  "Why, 
the  devil  you  say,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  crowd. 

"Yes  I  do,"  he  ejaculated,  "he's  deader 
'en  hell — died  last  night;  if  you  don't  believe 
me  ask  Melby ;  been  diggin'  a  grave  up  t'  Sher- 


52  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

burnville.  Funeral  's  goin'  to  be  this  after- 
noon." 

Although  it  was  in  the  dead  of  winter  and 
exceedingly  cold,  the  boys  of  the  old  frontier 
town  proved  themselves  loyal  to  the  memory 
of  the  old  trapper  and  turned  out  in  force.  It 
was  a  cold,  dreary  drive  over  frozen  roads 
that  were  rough  and  bumpy,  first  to  the  "Gar- 
den of  Eden,"  where  the  remains  of  Old  Dan 
were  loaded  onto  a  wagon,  and  thence  to  the 
cemetery  at  Sherburnville.  On  arriving  at 
the  cemetery  a  single  glance  at  the  undis- 
turbed snow  clad  surface  disclosed  the  fact 
that  no  grave  had,  as  yet,  been  dug.  After  a 
short  deliberation  it  was  decided  to  dig  one 
then  and  there.  Men  cleared  with  their  feet 
a  space  in  the  snow  and  then  gathered  timber 
from  the  nearby  woods  and  made  a  roaring 
fire.  This  was  made  necessary  from  the  fact 
that  the  ground  was  frozen  to  a  depth  of  two 
and  a  half  to  three  feet,  and  was  as  hard  as 
steel. 

So,  the  wood  was  piled  on,  and  while  the 
process  of  thawing  out  the  ground  was  go- 
ing on,  the  friends  of  Old  Dan  gathered  close 
and  absorbed  the  genial  heat  and  thawed  out 
also,  and  when  their  chattering  teeth  had 
been  stilled  sufficiently  to  admit  of  coherent 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  53 

speech,  the  things  they  said  about  the  man 
who  had  fallen  down  in  the  funeral  arrange- 
ments were  hardly  fit  for  a  respectable  bar- 
room, to  say  nothing  of  a  solemn  occasion 
such  as  a  funeral. 

The  work  of  thawing  out  the  ground  and 
digging  the  grave  consumed  much  time,  dur- 
ing which  the  members  of  the  funeral  party 
worked  in  shifts,  carrying  wood  for  the  fire 
or  taking  a  hand  at  the  spade.  The  grave 
was  finished  at  last,  not  a  grave  of  regulation 
depth,  but  sufficient  under  the  circumstances, 
so  the  crowd  thought,  and  the  remains  of  the 
old  trapper  were  deposited  therein.  The  com- 
mitment of  "dust  to  dust"  is  always  a  solemn 
act  whether  the  body  goes  shriven  or  unshriv- 
en  into  eternal  rest,  and  a  hush  fell  upon  the 
little  group  huddled  about  the  yawning  grave. 
After  a  pause,  they  looked  one  to  another, 
awkwardly,  inquiringly,  not  knowing  just 
what  was  expected  of  them  in  the  emergency, 
and  then,  one  by  one  they  removed  their  hats 
as  if  by  a  common  impulse  and  for  a  moment 
bared  their  heads  to  the  chilling  blast,  while 
the  winter  winds  intoned  a  requiem  in  the  tops 
of  the  nearby  woods. 


54  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

"UNCLE  BILLY"  NICHOLS  COLLECTS 
FOR  A  HAM 

Grandfather  William  Nichols,  known 
throughout  the  community  of  Momence  as 
"Uncle  Billy/'  was  a  square-toed,  upstanding 
individual  whose  reputation  for  truth,  verac- 
ity and  square-dealing  was  proverbial  He 
was  a  powerful  man  physically,  standing  six 
feet  four  in  his  stocking  feet,  of  the  lean,  ran- 
gy type,  and,  notwithstanding  his  genial^  ur- 
bane manner,  was  a  dangerous  individual  to 
try  and  "run  a  sandy  on,"  as  they  sometimes 
used  to  do  in  the  old  days  of  the  frontier.  John- 
nie Marshall,  who  used  to  run  a  saloon  on  the 
west  side  of  Range  street,  three  or  four  doors 
south  of  the  corner,  bought  a  ham  from 
"Uncle  Billy"  one  day,  a  regular  honest4o- 
goodness  old  fashioned,  sugar-cured  smoke- 
house ham  such  as  everybody  used  to  have  in 
the  days  before  they  ever  dreamed  of  paint- 
ing them  with  "liquid  smoke."  The  ham  was 
duly  delivered  and  in  the  course  of  a  week  or 
two  "Uncle  Billy"  dropped  into  Marshall's 
place  to  collect  for  it. 

Marshall's  place  was  a  one-story  frame 
building  something  over  fifty  feet  in  length 
which  stood,  in  the  opinion  of  many  of  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  55 

older  citizens,  about  where  the  Parish  bank  is 
today.  The  Marshall  saloon  was  a  popular 
place  in  its  day.  The  distinguishing  feature 
of  the  building  was  its  floor.  That  floor  con- 
veyed to  the  casual  visitor  a  sense  of  primi- 
tive antiquity  as  nothing  else  could.  This  floor 
was  laid  with  elegant  black  walnut  slabs 
twelve  feet  in  length,  three  inches  thick  and 
from  eighteen  to  twenty-four  inches  in  width ! 
Can  you  imagine  it?  These  black  walnut 
slabs  were  the  product  of  the  local  saw-mill 
in  a  day  when  virgin  timber  was  drawn  upon 
without  stint.  In  the  early  days  white  oak 
lumber  was  more  highly  esteemed  than  walnut 
and  who  knows  but  that  the  saw-mill  man 
may  have  congratulated  himself  on  "putting 
over"  something  clever  when  he  unloaded  this 
bunch  of  walnut  for  Johnnie  Marshall's  floor 
instead  of  good,  white  oak  plank.  That  wal- 
nut floor  alone,  in  this  day,  would  represent 
a  small  fortune.  The  place  was  chiefly  famous 
as  possessing  the  only  pigeon-hole  table  in 
the  Eastern  Illinois  of  that  day. 

Marshall  was  standing  behind  the  bar 
when  "Uncle  Billy"  happened  in.  Evidently 
something  had  gone  wrong  with  him  that  day 
for,  when  "Uncle  Billy"  mentioned  that  he 
had  come  to  collect  for  the  ham,  Marshall  flar- 


56  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

ed  up  and  exclaimed :  "Say,  old  man,  that  was 
the  rottenest  ham  I  ever  had  in  my  life.  You 
don't  think  I  am  going  to  pay  for  it,  do  you?" 
Instead  of  argument  there  was  action  on  the 
part  of  "Uncle  Billy."  His  long  right  arm 
swung  like  a  mill-sweep  over  that  bar  and  his 
hand  gathered  in  its  capacious  grasp  coat,  vest 
shirt,  nether  garment  and  everything  in  the 
region  of  the  small  of  the  back  with  the  grip  of 
a  Cyclops.  An  upward  heave  of  the  arm  and 
along  came  Johnnie  Marshall  head  first  over 
his  own  bar,  only  to  be  dropped  face  down- 
ward in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  With  his  foot 
"Uncle  Billy  rolled  him  over  on  his  back  and, 
looking  down  upon  the  recumbent  figure  with 
a  calm,  unruffled  air,  he  remarked:  "So,  the 
ham  was  spiled,  was  it,  Johnnie?  Couldn't 
use  it  at  all,  I  suppose?" 

"Well,  n-n-no,  it  wasn't  exactly  spiled, 
"Uncle  Billy,"  replied  the  humbled  Johnnie; 
and,  and,  uh,  come  to  think  on  it,  we  used  it  all 
and  it  was  pretty  tolerable  good."  Johnny  had 
risen  to  a  sitting  posture  by  this  time  and  was 
further  aided  by  Uncle  Billy,  who  got  him  by 
the  coat  collar  and  lifted  him  to  his  feet.  Still 
retaining  his  hold  on  the  coat  collar  he  re- 
marked: "That  'ere  ham  was  about  as  good 
a  ham  as  you  ever  had,  wasn't  it,  Johnnie?" 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  57 

"Yes,"  acknowledged  Johnnie,  "that  'ere  was 
a  good  ham;  as  near  as  I  kin  recollect,  that 
was  as  good  a  ham  as  I  ever  had !"  And  with 
this  acknowledgement  of  the  excellence  of  the 
goods,  Uncle  Billy  released  his  hold  while 
Johnnie  Marshall  circled  the  end  of  the  bar 
and  extracted  from  the  till  one  dollar  and  fif- 
ty cents,  coin  of  the  realm,  which  was  the 
proper  tariff  on  a  fifteen-pound  ham  of  that 
day  at  ten  cents  per  pound,  and  handed  it  over 
with  profuse  apologies  for  his  action.  Uncle 
Billy  grimly  pocketed  the  money  and  made 
straight  for  the  door,  and  Johnnie  Marshall, 
still  rattled  and  flustered  at  the  rapidity  with 
which  the  events  we  have  narrated  took  place, 
forgot  to  say  good-by  to  the  retreating  figure, 
or  ask  him  to  come  again. 


58  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


"THE  HOUSE  THAT  JACK  BUILT" 

Let  us  say  at  the  outset  that  we  are  not 
trespassing  on  the  domain  of  the  ancient,  well 
loved  nursery  tales  for  a  story.  The  title, 
however,  is  peculiarly  applicable,  since  the 
early-day  pioneers  of  Yellowhead  so  desig- 
nated the  habitation  of  a  lone  Pottawattomie 
Indian  who  made  his  home  there  for  years. 
Mr.  William  Stratton  recalls  that  many  years 
ago  up  in  Yellowhead  township,  a  single  strag- 
gler of  the  once  numerous  band  of  the  Pot- 
tawattomi  of  the  Prairie  and  the  Kankakee 
who  had  formerly  occupied  that  section,  made 
his  home  on  an  eighty-acre  "float."  He  was 
known  as  "Jack-Built,"  for  short,  and  his 
place  was  about  a  mile  and  a  half  south  of 
the  Perry  Stratton  place,  or  "Yellowhead 
Point"  where  old  chief  Yellowhead  formerly 
had  his  village. 

Here  he  struggled  manfully,  though  un- 
successfully, to  adapt  himself  to  the  ways  of 
the  white  man.  Here  he  labored  industrious- 
ly for  a  time  and  cleared  a  little  circular  spot 
in  the  timber  whereupon  to  raise  his  corn  and 
pumpkins.  Here,  also,  he  reared  a  pitiful  lit- 
tle shack  whose  lines  followed  more  nearly 
the  peculiar  design  of  the  aboriginal  "tepee," 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  59 

even  though  he  had  at  first  fondly  hoped  to 
follow  that  of  his  white  brother.  A  notable 
achievement  of  Jack's  was  when  he  planted 
an  apple  tree  within  the  clearing  in  the  woods. 
Someone,  somewhere,  gave  him  an  apple  tree 
one  day  and  he  planted  it  according  to  direc- 
tions. It  laid  hold  of  the  soil  with  its  roots 
and  grew  and  thrived,  to  Jack's  great  delight. 
Such  was  the  response  of  this  tree  to  the 
scant  effort  Jack  extended  that,  in  the  course 
of  the  years  it  bore  bountifully  of  an  indiffer- 
ent sort  of  fruit. 

But,  to  Jack,  this  tree  of  the  white  man's 
was  "great  Medicine."  When  asked  why  he 
did  not  plant  more  apple  trees,  Indian  Jack 
replied  stolidly,  "One  tree  make  heap  plenty." 
And  the  terse  reply  suggests  one  important 
deduction,  viz:  when  you  have  enough,  why 
worry  about  more.  That  peculiar  phase  of 
Indian  philosophy  which  regards  only  to- 
day, and  takes  no  thought  of  the  morrow,  was 
noticeable  in  all  the  varied  activities  by  which 
Indian  Jack  sought  to  emulate  the  white  man. 
There  were  days  in  the  spring  and  early  sum- 
mer when  his  corn  patch  would  have  profited 
immensely  had  he  gone  into  it  with  a  hoe.  The 
pumpkins  and  melons  did  not  prosper  for  the 
same  reason.    When  it  rained,  one  could  not 


60  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

be  expected  to  do  these  things  very  well,  and 
on  those  days  when  the  sun  shone  high  in  the 
heavens  there  was  the  call  of  magnificent 
woodland  aisles,  flecked  with  leafy  shade  and 
sunshine,  where  the  Great  Spirit  of  the  an- 
cient Pottawattomi  lurked  and  sang  the  old, 
old  songs  that  grip  one  so,  and  beckoned,  beck- 
oned enticingly  that  one  lone  red  child  to 
throw  off  the  self-imposed  shackles  of  the 
white  man  and  be  free.  Little  wonder,  then, 
that  instead  of  tending  corn  he  set  primitive 
snares  for  the  wily  mink  on  the  edge  of  dark 
pools;  likewise  in  the  runways  of  the  musk- 
rat.  He  stalked  the  paths  of  the  forest  and 
was  rewarded  now  and  then  when  his  ready 
arrow  brought  down  a  deer  that  still  lingered 
in  its  home  in  the  hazel  copses,  or  a  wild  goose 
or  mallard  that  sought  the  nearby  water. 

In  the  "moon  of  bright  nights,"  which, 
in  the  Indian  calendar  is  the  month  of  April, 
it  was  then  the  breath  of  Shawandasee,  "the 
South  Wind,"  fell  upon  the  woodland  warm 
and  languorous ;  when  wild  flowers  opened  al- 
most over-night;  when  buds  swelled  and  the 
sweet  sap  of  the  maple  oozed  from  the  bruis- 
ed spots  on  their  rugged  trunks.  And  Indian 
Jack,  sensing  this  quickening  tide  in  the  realm 
of  nature  sat  outside  his  shack  while  the  night 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  61 

enfolded  him,  and  calmly  and  complacently 
he  smoked,  smoked  the  tobacco  of  the  white 
man  mixed  with  "songshasha,"  or  dried  bark 
of  the  red  willow,  and  watched  the  stars  and 
the  moon  and  the  drift  of  the  night  flights  of 
the  wild  geese  northward  that  appeared  first 
as  a  small  cloud  and  then  vanished  on  the  hor- 
izon like  wisps  of  mist.  As  he  sat  thus,  there 
were  thoughts  doubtless  of  the  hordes  of  pick- 
erel and  sturgeon  that,  even  then,  were  mov- 
ing upstream  in  quest  of  the  shallow  waters 
of  the  upper  swamps.  The  whole  realm  of 
nature  was  astir  with  its  latent  life  and  at 
such  times  Indian  Jack  was  conscious  of  a  feel- 
ing of  peace  and  deep  content  which  most 
surely  boded  ill  for  the  crops  of  his  little  clear- 
ing in  the  timber.  To  the  Indian  mind  the 
feast  of  good  things  was  being  spread.  The 
season  of  plenty  with  ease  was  on.  That 
charm  which  Indian  Jack  found  so  all-engross- 
ing in  a  time  like  this,  is,  perhaps,  best  ex- 
pressed in  a  bit  of  vagrant  verse — 

"In  the  April  moonlight, 
Or  when  frost  is  white 
Upon  the  hill, 
We'll  hunt  and  We'll  rest 
When  it  pleases  us  best 
Whenever  we  will." 


62  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Indian  Jack  was  known  to  be  friendly 
though  taciturn,  and  frequently  the  boys  of 
the  neighborhood  would  turn  out  and  visit 
him  at  his  shack  and  vainly  endeavor  to  en- 
gage him  in  conversation.  An  occasional 
"ugh,"  and  a  shrug  was  about  as  far  as  they 
ever  got  with  him  in  the  discussion  of  the  af- 
fairs of  the  frontier.  He  made  it  clear,  how- 
ever, that  he  enjoyed  hearing  their  conver- 
sation. By  the  older  settlers  of  the  neigh- 
borhood Jack's  place  was  known  as  the 
"House  That  Jack  Built."  This  title  in  time 
proved  too  unwieldly  and  the  term  "Jack 
Built"  was  substituted  and  meant  Indian 
Jack  or  Jack's  place  as  the  case  might  be.  For 
many  years  "Jack  Built"  continued  to  occupy 
his  shack  in  the  little  clearing  but,  as  the  coun- 
try settled  up,  the  game  grew  scarcer  and  his 
interest  in  the  little  cleared  patch  waned  al- 
most to  the  point  of  complete  extinction.  If  it 
had  not  been  that  his  pioneer  friends  were 
good  to  him,  he  would  have  most  surely 
suffered  from  hunger.  There  came  a  day  at 
last  when  Jack  was  missed  from  the  environs 
of  "The  House  That  Jack  Built."  Why  he  left 
after  all  these  years  of  endeavor  no  one  ever 
knew,  for  Indian  Jack  kept  his  own  counsel 
and  rarely  if  ever  confided  his  plans  and  pur- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE 


poses  to  anyone.  Quietly  he  found  a  buyer  for 
his  "float."  Quietly  he  gathered  together 
those  few  things  necessary  to  an  Indian  when 
he  takes  "the  long  trail,"  after  which  he  turn- 
ed his  back  on  "The  House  That  Jack  Built," 
whether  with  regret  or  not  we  may  not  say, 
but  guiding  his  pony  into  the  trail  that  lays 
towards  the  setting  sun,  he  followed  his  peo- 
ple. The  pioneer  settlers  in  the  town  of  Yel- 
lowhead,  those  who  knew  Indian  Jack  best, 
diagnosed  the  case  as  that  of  "Homesick  In- 
dian," and  nothing  more. 


64  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


HOSS-RACING  DAYS  IN  OLD  MOMENCE 

In  the  old  days  on  the  Kankakee  river 
there  wasn't  a  sport,  a  game — anything  in 
the  way  of  fun — that  could  not  be  found  at 
the  pioneer  settlement  of  old  Momence.  Talk 
about  your  "wide-open  towns" — right  here  is 
where  that  popular  term  was  "coined."  Many 
of  your  so-called  "wide-open"  towns  of  today 
are  merely  cheap  and  tawdry  imitations  such 
as  would  pall  on  the  spirit  of  a  real,  dyed-in- 
the-wool  Momence  resident  of  sixty  years  ago, 
and  give  him  a  pain  and  a  feeling  akin  to  nau- 
sea. The  reader  should  take  care  to  remem- 
ber that  Momence  was  one  of  the  earliest 
settlements  on  the  river  in  Eastern  Illinois. 
Her  history  harks  back  to  the  early  thirties — 
a  good  ways  back  when  one  ponders  on  it. 
The  Indian  was  here  for,  at  that  time,  he  had 
just  consented  to  yield  his  domain  to  the 
"Great  White  Father"  and,  in  consequence 
had  a  three-year  margin  under  the  treaty  to 
stay  or  go  as  he  chose.  Apparently,  he  chose 
to  stay.  Mingled  with  these  aborigines  were 
white  hunters  and  trappers,  Frenchmen  main- 
ly, in  that  early  day,  with  now  and  then  one 
from  down  on  the  Wabash,  in  Indiana.  These 
men  who  have  given  substance  to  the  nation's 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  65 

history  invested  it  also  with  an  indiscribable 
charm  and  color.  These  early-day  men  of  the 
buckskin  shirt  and  coon-skin  cap,  stood 
straight,  talked  straight,  shot  straight  and, 
above  all  other  things,  took  their  whiskey 
straight. 

Although  it  is  generally  conceded  that 
there  is  nothing  to  be  said  in  favor  of  whis- 
key on  the  whole,  there  is  one  thing  to  be  said 
in  favor  of  this  old-time  whiskey  of  the  fron- 
tier, and  that  is,  while  it  sometimes  left  its  pa- 
tron with  a  large-sized  headache,  it  did  not 
make  him  crazy  altogether,  as  does  the  doubt- 
ful product  of  today.  Among  the  pastimes 
that  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  this  pictures- 
que assemblage  of  frontier  types,  were  the 
American  game  of  poker,  boxing,  wrestling, 
foot  racing  and  the  like  varied  now  and  then 
by  an  honest-to-goodness  fight.  During  the 
fifties  and  the  sixties,  with  the  coming  of  the 
settlers,  horse-racing  fbecame  the  dominant 
sport,  and  few  there  were  within  the  imme- 
diate environs  of  Momence  who  did  not  pos- 
sess a  quarter  or  half-mile  horse.  Many  of 
these  horses  in  the  vernacular  of  the  frontier 
were  rated  as  "right  likely  critters."  Every 
Saturday  there  was  a  gathering  of  the  clans 
at  Momence  to  witness  some  special  racing 


66  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

event.  Following  this  main  event,  generally, 
would  occur  anywhere  from  ten  to  a  dozen 
races  matched  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  be- 
tween the  owners  of  quarter  and  half-mile 
horses,  who,  cheered  by  the  sport,  and  keyed 
to  the  point  of  optimism  by  generous  drinks 
of  whiskey,  backed  their  favorites  with  all 
their  worldly  goods.  Oh,  there  was  nothing 
niggardly,  no  note  of  caution  in  the  support 
these  old-time  boys  gave  to  the  "hoss"  of 
their  choice. 

In  that  day  of  the  late  sixties,  here  and 
there  a  settler  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  a 
spring-seat  for  his  lumber  wagon.  The  spring- 
seat  was  viewed  with  envious  eyes  by  those 
whose  limited  fortunes  made  it  not  only  advis- 
able but  necessary  to  ride  the  "puncheon" 
board  laid  across  the  wagon-box.  There  was 
a  lure  to  the  spring-seat  and,  when  the  betting 
became  brisk  and  spirited,  a  spring-seat  serv- 
ed admirably  as  a  final  resource  when  the 
owner  thereof  had  become  reduced  in  ready 
funds.  Many  a  spring-seat  changed  hands  in 
those  days  on  the  result  of  a  race.  In  con- 
sequence of  this  sporting  proclivity  on  the 
part  of  early-day  Momence  citizens,  the  place 
was  known  far  and  wide  by  members  of  the 
sporting  fraternity  generally.    For  some  years 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  67 

a  gambler  from  the  outside  by  the  name  of 
Manahan,  made  regular  visits  here.  His  spec- 
ialty was  poker.  Manahan  was  a  squat,  thick- 
set individual  with  a  benign  and  ingratiating 
personalty.  He  wore  invariably  brown  denim 
trousers,  the  legs  of  which  were  thrust  non- 
chalantly into  the  tops  of  brown  Morocco 
leather  boots,  a  la  pioneer.  For  many  years 
he  successfully  clipped  dividends  from  the 
bank  rolls  of  unsuspecting  pilgrims  after  the 
manner  of  his  kind. 

One  day,  it  may  have  been  round  about 
1870,  a  rather  seedy  looking  outfit  consist- 
ing of  a  team  hitched  to  a  light  wagon,  drove 
into  Momence  from,  the  south  and  stopped  be- 
fore the  old  stone  saloon  that  adjoined  the 
Central  House.  Hitched  to  the  rear  of  the 
wagon  was  a  little  bay  mare.  The  man  in 
charge — well,  there  was  nothing  extraordin- 
ary about  him  except  that  he  was  of  a  some- 
what nervous  temperament  and  had  exceed- 
ingly sharp,  gray  eyes,  deep  set  and  obscured 
by  heavy,  bushy  eyebrows.  He  made  his  way 
into  the  bar  and  called  for  whiskey  in  rather 
an  ostentatious  manner.  He  not  only  called 
for  one  but  several  whiskies  within  the  space 
of  a  few  minutes,  during  which  he  made  it 
known  by  way  of  a  general  statement  to  that 


68  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

effect,  that  he  had  a  "hoss"  that  could  do  a 
quarter-mile  so  neatly  and  handily  that  he 
made  most  of  his  competitors  look  like  they 
were  anchored  to  the  ground. 

Of  course,  the  crowd  was  interested  on 
the  instant,  and  of  course,  there  were  those 
who  recalled  that  citizen  Jake  Hess  owned 
what  was  conceded  to  be,  the  best  quarter- 
"hoss"  in  all  the  country  round  about.  Amid 
a  good  deal  of  stir  and  excitement,  Hess  was 
sent  for,  and,  on  his  arrival,  the  crowd  and 
the  stranger  moved  out  to  where  the  team  was 
standing  and  there,  in  the  harness,  stood  a 
little  roan  horse  with  harness  marks  deeply 
cut  into  the  hair  of  neck  and  shoulders  and 
sides.  This  animal,  the  stranger  stoutly  af- 
firmed, could  beat  anything  they  had  in  a 
quarter-mile  go,  at  least  he  had  $250  that  said 
so.  Hess  hurriedly  took  in  the  animal  with 
his  practiced  eye,  and  then  as  hurriedly  match- 
ed the  stranger  for  $250  a  side.  There  was  a 
perfect  hubbub  of  excitement  as  the  crowd 
moved  on  to  the  west  side  of  town  to  that 
main  east  and  west  road  which,  for  years  had 
served  as  a  track  for  these  impromptu  equine 
events.  Arriving  at  the  place  the  stranger 
peeled  the  harness  from  the  roan  horse  and 
then  announced  that  he  would  ride  the  ani- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  69 

mal  himself,  much  to  the  surprise  of  the 
crowd.  After  some  preliminary  scoring  the 
horses  got  away  down  the  stretch,  and,  almost 
from  the  first  the  Hess  mare  ran  away  from 
her  adversary.  It  was  a  pretty  bad  defeat; 
even  the  stranger  was  obliged  to  admit  that. 
There  was  great  rejoicing,  however, 
among  the  native  population  of  Momence, 
whose  sporting  traditions  thus  remained  un- 
impaired, and  on  the  return  of  the  crowd 
to  town  they  sought  out  the  old  stone  saloon, 
there  to  talk  it  over  and  drink  a  bumper  or 
two  to  the  health  of  the  Hess  mare  meanwhile. 
The  stranger  accompanied  them.  Apparent- 
ly he  was  a  good  loser — one  who  was  game 
all  the  way  through.  As  he  stood  at  the  bar 
with  Hess  he  talked  volubly  and  paid  a  hand- 
some tribute  to  the  performance  of  the  Hess 
mare.  "Why,"  said  he,  as  he  put  down  the 
glass,  "that  hoss  of  yourn  got  up  and  hump- 
ed himself  jest  like  a  skeered  ghost  ahead  of 
a  streak  of  double-geared  lightninM  I  ain't 
never  been  so  beat  in  sizin'  up  a  hoss  in  all 
my  life !  You  won  all  right,  mister — you  won !" 
There  was  another  round  of  drinks.  The 
crowd  found  the  situation  much  to  their  liking. 
The  owner  of  the  victorious  horse  felt  a  de- 
lightful glow  that  had  the  effect  of  deepening 


70  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

the  pink  in  his  cheeks  and  caused  the  mois- 
ture to  stand  out  comfortably  on  his  forehead. 
He  was  conscious,  also,  of  an  increasing  chest 
expansion  as  the  merits  of  his  horse  were  so 
generously  acknowledged  by  the  vanquished. 

Altogether  the  situation  was  opportune, 
auspicious,  although  with  our  deeper  know- 
ledge of  the  mysteries  of  psycho  analysis,  it 
would  have  been  spoken  of  in  this  day  as  the 
"psychological  moment,"  one  that  a  person 
with  dark,  ulterior  motives,  would  have 
seized  upon  quickly  and  with  confidence.  That 
the  stranger  was  an  adept  in  sizing  up  just 
such  situations  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Very 
much  to  the  surprise  of  everyone  present,  he 
proposed  another  trial  of  speed  with  the  Hess 
mare  and  the  little  bay  mare  that  followed  de- 
murely at  the  tail  of  the  wagon.  "I'll  lay  five 
hundred  on  her,"  said  he,  "with  just  one  con- 
dition, and  that  is  that  she  be  permitted  to 
run  the  heat  without  any  rider  whatever!" 
The  crowd  gasped.  Could  he  mean  it?  Surely 
the  whiskey  he  had  partaken  of  had  gone  to 
his  head !  Hess  snapped  at  the  offer  amid  the 
applause  and  congratulations  of  the  onlookers. 
The  money  was  put  up,  and  again  the  crowd 
repaired  to  the  track  west  of  town. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  71 

There  is  a  different  tale  we  have  to  tell 
concerning  this  second  trial  of  speed.  It  is  a 
tale  in  which  there  is  no  element  of  joy  or 
pleasure  for  such  as  risked  their  money  on  the 
local  horse.  There  were  things  that  took  place 
at  that  second  race  of  which  the  sober  sec- 
ond-thought and  judgment  of  the  crowd  took 
no  note  until  long  after  it  was  too  late.  Most 
notable  among  the  things  that  happened— 
that  incident  which,  perhaps,  was  most  signif- 
icant of  disaster — was  when  a  stranger 
mounted  to  the  top  of  the  nearby  "stake-and 
rider  fence"  and,  opening  a  large  leather  bag, 
containing  money,  announced  that  he  was  then 
and  there  prepared  to  lay  any  amount  on  the 
riderless  horse.  Even  then  the  crowd  asked 
no  questions  but  surged  about  the  mysterious 
stranger  as  he  stood  on  his  precarious  perch, 
and  registered  many  a  bet  of  five  or  ten  or 
twenty,  and  not  a  few  larger  amounts  than 
that.  Our  informant,  as  he  pictured  the  scene 
in  his  mind's  eye,  remarked :  "I  kin  see  'im 
yet."  Hence  you  may  know,  dear  reader,  that 
this  individual  was  a  real  entity  and  not  a  fa- 
brication. 

The  horses,  for  sometime  in  readiness  for 
the  race,  were  held  in  abeyance  until  the  bet- 
ting populace  had  been  duly  accommodated. 


72  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

As  for  the  race  itself,  there  is  not  much  to  be 
said.  It  was  short,  sharp  and  decisive — es- 
pecially the  latter.  The  demure,  docile  little 
mare  that  followed  the  tail-end  of  the  wagon, 
meek  and  lamb-like,  was  a  whirlwind.  Noth- 
ing less  would  have  done  her  justice.  She 
crossed  the  mark  lengths  ahead  of  the  Hess 
mare  and,  at  a  word  from  her  master,  slowed 
down  and  turned  and  trotted  up  to  him,  and 
then  the  crowd  knew  that  she  had  been  train- 
ed to  the  business.  And  by  that  sign,  too, 
they  also  realized  that  they  had  been  most  ar- 
tistically "flim-flammed." 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  liquor  consum- 
ed by  that  crowd  on  their  return  to  the  old 
stone  saloon.  Tradition  has  it  that  each  fel- 
low bought  his  own.  Those  who  could  not 
buy,  "stood-off"  the  bar-tender.  They  who 
could  neither  "buy"  nor  "stand-off"  the  "bar- 
keeper," endured  the  pangs  of  pitiless  drought 
amid  a  gloom  which  resembled  that  in  "Mudd- 
ville,"  after  "the  mighty  Casey  had  struck 
out."  Tradition  further  insists  that  this  was 
the  most  complete  and  artistic  "skinning"  ev- 
er perpetrated  on  a  sporting  community  in 
all  the  history  of  Kankakee  county.  Days  af- 
ter it  was  recalled  that  the  man  with  the  seedy 
looking  outfit  and  the  mysterious  stranger 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  7o 

with  the  bag  full  of  money  worked  with  fev- 
erish haste,  and  within  a  few  minutes  after 
the  race  were  hitting  the  highway  north  out 
of  town.  The  last  ever  seen  of  the  seedy 
looking  outfit  it  was  still  moving  north  over 
the  highway  and,  lo  and  behold,  there  sat  in 
the  seat  with  the  driver,  the  now  familiar 
form  of  the  erstwhile  mysterious  stranger, 
holding  on  his  knees  and  hugging  closely  an 
old  leather  bag  whose  sides  bulged  with  a 
goodly  quantity  of  Momence  "Kale."  And,  ap- 
parently, these  two  were  not  strangers. 


74  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

THE  LAST  ENCAMPMENT  OF  THE 
INDIANS 

The  Hon.  Clark  Brown,  of  Union,  Mis- 
souri, a  member  of  the  Missouri  legislature, 
formerly  a  resident  of  Momence,  has  shown 
his  deep  interest  and  appreciation  of  the  work 
undertaken  by  the  writer  to  preserve  that 
which  is  worth  while  in  the  lives  of  the  early 
day  settlers,  by  furnishing  us  the  following 
incident. 

"The  greatest  return  of  the  children  of 
the  prairies  to  a  last  view  of  their  old  hunt- 
ing grounds,  was  when  the  report  came,  in  the 
summer  of  1853,  that  a  tribe  of  Indians  had 
come  back  and  encamped  in  Bourbonnais 
Grove. 

Quite  a  company  from  our  neighborhood, 
east  of  the  grove,  decided  to  go  down  and 
see  the  Indians.  Some  went  in  buggies,  and 
some  on  horseback,  and  the  seeing  was  well 
worth  the  going.  On  a  platform  of  light  poles 
two  feet  above  the  ground  in  an  open  spot  in 
LeVasseur's  sugar  grove,  the  old  chief  and  his 
squaw  were  squatted  amid  their  blankets  and 
other  belongings.  I  remember  that  "Injun" 
as  the  largest  squab  of  human  flesh  and  fat 
I  ever  saw.    His  weight  must  have  been  four 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  75 

hundred  pounds  or  more.  We  saw  no  efforts 
upon  his  part  to  stand  on  his  feet  that  day. 
His  clothing  consisted  of  one  garment,  a  large 
sheet  of  canvas,  seemingly,  which  buttoned 
about  his  neck,  enveloping  him  in  its  ample 
folds.  It  might  have  been  considered  the  or- 
iginal'of  the  "Mother  Hubbard." 

The  old  couple  seemed  to  take  much  pride 
in  each  other,  she  taking  pains  with  the  little 
rat- tail  braids  with  a  few  strands  of  white 
hair  mixed  with  his  black  hair  that  hung  from 
the  eaves  of  his  formidable  head.  Both  chat- 
tered or  grunted  freely  with  the  company 
which  paid  them  the  most  attention  during 
the  day.  The  rest  of  the  thirty  or  forty  mem- 
bers of  the  tribe  were  in  tepees,  or  brush 
wigwams,  arranged  in  a  circle  at  some  dis- 
tance f rom  their  chief.  But  little  shelter  was 
required  in  a  summer  encampment. 

Their  toilet  was  lacking  altogether  in 
style.  All  efforts  at  clothing  were  a  conglom- 
erate mixture— no  two  alike — of  white  man's 
and  aboriginal  dress.  One  article,  the  blank- 
et, prevailed  quite  generally  with  the  women. 
But  there  was  a  variety  of  styles  when  it 
came  to  wearing  them.  With  some  the  blank- 
et would  be  suspended  from  the  loins,  while 
others  spread  it  over  their  shoulders.  The  split 


76  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

skirt  had  not  then  come  into  style,  and  their 
blankets  were  not  sufficiently  ample  in  di- 
mensions to  permit  of  much  of  a  "split." 

Apparently,  the  girls  as  they  approached 
the  stage  of  womanhood,  had  their  hair  plait- 
ed into  one  long  braid,  and  with  many,  this 
braid  was,  at  regular  intervals  of  several  in- 
ches, pounded  full  of  mud  or  moist  clay  which 
dried  and  staid  hard.  This  not  only  held  the 
hair  from  coming  down  but  was  an  aid  to  or- 
namentation, feathers  and  beads  being  lavish- 
ly used.  One  thing  that  spoke  well  for  the 
tribe,  there  were  no  evidences  of  cross-breed- 
ing. All  had  the  same  degree  of  "smoked  ba- 
con" complexion,  the  same  coarse,  black  hair. 

Not  many  of  the  tribe,  between  the  old 
chief  and  the  children  and  youths  with  their 
bows  and  arrows  with  which  they  shot  the 
big  copper  pennies  from  a  split  stick  set  in 
the  ground,  seemed  desirous  of  cultivating 
the  acquaintance  of  the  visitors.  No  doubt 
they  all  could  make  use  of  our  language  if 
they  had  so  desired,  but  they  seemed  not  in- 
clined to  discuss  the  latest  fashions  nor  dis- 
posed to  relate  the  neighborhood  gossip,  even 
if  such  things  are  the  admitted  prerogative 
of  "the  female  of  the  species." 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  77 

There  were  other  echoes  also  from  the 
west  side  of  the  great  river.  Momence,  like  a 
few  others,  had  selected  a  reservation,  and 
seemingly  with  very  good  judgment.  Mo- 
mence, it  should  be  borne  in  mind,  was  an 
Indian  chief.  We  might  say  it  consisted  of  a 
piece  of  the  Kankakee  river  embracing  the  is- 
land, on  which  was  once  a  grist  mill,  and  quite 
an  extent  of  shore  on  either  side  of  the  river. 
By  this  time,  no  doubt,  the  whole  site  is  oc- 
cupied by  the  city  of  Momence.  The  writer 
once  had  the  pleasure  of  an  interview  during 
a  railroad  ride  with  this  original  proprietor. 
He  was  a  large,  well  porportioned  Indian, 
dressed  in  white  man's  fashion.  This  was  his 
last  visit  to  his  old  range  on  the  Kankakee. 
Probably,  Indian-like,  he  had  been  accused  of 
selling  his  reservation  to  two  parties.  We 
never  heard  how  the  courts  decided  the  own- 
ership." 


78  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


MOMENCE  INCORPORATES 

Momence  took  steps  to  incorporate  as  a 
village  nearly  three-quarters  of  a  century  ago. 
At  that  time  the  little  settlement  of  the  river 
had  near  unto  two  hundred  souls,  five  or  six 
stores  and  several  small  industries.  The 
truth  is,  Momence  was  a  smug,  tight  little  bor- 
der settlement  of  substance  while  Kankakee 
was  still  an  infant  in  swaddling  clothes, 
"mewling  and  spewing  in  its  nurse's  arms." 
There  are  no  records  extant  relating  to  this 
momentous  event,  sad  to  say.  The  memory  of 
the  old-time  pioneer  holds  all  there  is  to  be  said 
about  it.  It  is  generally  conceded  that  the  ef- 
fort to  incorporate  took  place  about  the  year 
1853,  some  time  after  the  election  held  to  lo- 
cate the  county-seat  of  the  newly  organized 
county  of  Kankakee,  the  disastrous  outcome 
of  which,  disappointing  to  the  hopes  and  am- 
bitions of  Momence,  has  been  set  forth  in  a 
previous  volume  of  stories  of  early  days.  Mo- 
mence as  a  "border  town"  retained  her  chief 
characteristics  in  this  respect  for  many  a 
year.  Her  people,  originally,  were  the  real, 
dyed-in-the-wool  frontier  type,  and  were  rest- 
less and  sensitive  to  a  degree  of  restraints 
imposed  by  law  or  the  customs  of  civilization. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  79 

These  old-town  men  were  positive  giants ! 
Scarcely  a  man  of  them  measured  less  than 
six  feet,  and  many  of  them  were  taller  than 
that!  Naturally  they  were  possessed  of  a  grit 
and  a  brawn  that  made  them  formidable  in 
case  of  personal  encounter. 

The  life  of  the  old  town  of  the  border  was 
one  of  internecine  strife  in  a  day  when  a 
mere  difference  of  opinion,  if  nothing  more, 
sufficed  to  start  hostilities.  Bill  Graham  and 
Dan  Parmlee,  two  backwoods  giants  fell  out 
one  day  and  in  the  fight  that  ensued,  Graham 
seized  a  neck-yoke  that  chanced  to  be  lying 
close  by  and  nearly  brained  his  adversary 
with  it.  That  old  Dan  lived  at  all,  after  this 
savage  onslaught,  was  one  of  the  wonders. 
But  frontier  skulls  were  made  to  stand  hard 
knocks.  For  months  afterwards,  when  Parm- 
lee came  to  town,  it  was  noticed  that  he  did 
not  bring  his  rifle  with  him.  It  seemed  strange 
for  the  two  were  inseparable,  ordinarily.  Ask- 
ed one  day  about  it  and  why  he  did  not  car- 
ry it  as  of  yore,  old  Dan  replied  in  his  char- 
acteristic way:  "Wal,  its  like  this;  if  I  had 
that  thar  rifle  with  me  and  happened  to  run 
across  Bill  Graham  at  the  same  time,  by  God 
Pd  kill  'im !  Yes  I  would— sure  as  Adam  and 
Eve  lived  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  Me  and  Bill 


80  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

used  to  be  purty  good  friends,  and  he  ain't 
such  a  bad  feller  anyway.  Mebbe  if  Fd  got 
hold  of  that  neck-yoke  fust — well,  anyway 
I  leave  the  old  rifle  home  so's  old  Dan  won't 
do  anything  hasty,  besides,  old  Dan's  purty 
good  yit,  if  wust  comes  to  wust!" 

It  was  always  a  sport-loving  community, 
this  little,  backwoods  settlement  of  the  Kan- 
kakee, whose  people,  of  the  stature  and  en- 
dowed with  the  brawn  of  giants,  instead  of 
being  occupied  with  the  more  serious  things 
of  life,  leaned  rather  to  the  sports  and  games 
and  trifling  things  which  made  up,  in  large 
part,  the  life  of  wilderness  days.  Envy  and 
avarice  had  not  laid  hold  of  the  hearts  and 
consciences  of  these  people  in  that  day.  It 
was  a  generation  born  to  the  corn-pone  and 
the  hickory  shirt,  in  which  no  element  of 
superiority  of  race  or  breeding  was  acknowl- 
edged except  the  superiority  of  physical 
force.  The  "best  man"  in  every  community 
held  his  head  high.  He  had  a  right  to,  for 
his  quality  had  been  subjected  to  the  acid  test 
of  many  and  many  a  battle.  The  marshmen 
and  the  woodsmen,  and  the  men  of  the  river 
and  the  prairies  all  loved  to  congregate  at 
Momence,  for  there  their  fun-loving  natures 
always  found  that  which  was  a  joy  to  the  soul. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  81 

Every  other  man,  in  that  day,  had  a 
"race-hoss,"  and  over  on  the  western  edge  of 
town,  just  opposite  the  present  city  limits, 
was  the  track  over  which  they  ran.  Here,  in 
the  heat  of  excitement,  a  man  often  bet  every- 
thing he  had  in  the  world,  even  to  the  buck- 
skin shirt  on  his  back  or  the  more  treasured 
"spring-seat,"  that  later  graced  the  lumber- 
wagon  and  bespoke  a  prosperity  quite  in  ad- 
vance of  the  generality  of  frontier  folk.  Af- 
ter the  "hoss-race"  there  would  be  foot-races, 
a  wrestling  match,  a  boxing  bout  or  two,  a 
cock-fight — anything — even  a  dog  fight.  And, 
at  the  bare  mention  of  dogs,  the  pioneer  mem- 
ory recalls  that,  on  one  memorable  occasion, 
two  perfectly  staid  and  well-behaved  hounds 
of  the  "lop-eared"  species,  followed  their  re- 
spective masters  to  the  festivities  held  in  old 
Momence  and,  becoming  imbued  with  the  spir- 
it and  enthusiasm  of  the  times,  lit  into  one  an- 
other in  a  regular  rough-and-tumble  fight. 
The  crowd  was  interested  and  bet  liberally  on 
the  outcome  of  the  fight.  All  might  have 
been  well  and  the  "finger  that  writes,"  might 
have  remained  inert  and  motionless  had  not 
one  of  the  men  whose  dog  was  getting  some- 
what the  worst  of  the  battle,  kicked  the  op- 
posing dog  heavily  in  the  jowl.    As  a  result 


82  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

of  this  impulsive,  ill-considered  act,  there  en- 
sued a  fight  instanter  between  the  respective 
owners  of  the  dogs,  and,  if  the  pioneer  mem- 
ory may  be  relied  upon,  "it  was  a  scrap  worth 
going  miles  to  see." 

Not  only  that;  for  a  time  there  was  im- 
minent danger  that  the  whole  masculine  pop- 
ulation was  going  to  btecome  involved,  for 
each  man  had  his  friends  and  the  spirit  of 
fair-play  and  partisan  rivalry  ruled  a  formid- 
able factor  in  the  affairs  of  men  of  the  border. 
The  frontiersman  who  thus  so  whole-heartedly 
upheld  the  rights  and  reputation  of  his  dog 
was  about  six  feet  four  in  his  stockings.  Af- 
ter severely  chastising  his  adversary,  he  push- 
ed his  way  into  the  backwoods  saloon  follow- 
ed by  an  admiring  flock  of  partisans  and,  as 
he  leaned  upon  the  bar,  he  murmured  to  the 
bar-tender:  "Gimme  a  drink!  It  tires  me  to 
fight!" 

That  which  we  have  related  in  the  fore- 
going is  necessary  if  one  is  to  understand  and 
fully  appreciate  the  spirit  and  temper  of  a 
people  who,  confronted  by  a  proposition  to 
incorporate  as  a  village,  found  themselves 
unable  to  agree,  with  any  sort  of  unanimity, 
as  to  the  benefits  of  such  incorporation.  Most 
of  them  felt  that  it  meant  a  surrender  of  in- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  83 

dividual  rights  such  as  they  had  enjoyed  in 
the  past,  a  curtailing  of  the  old,  wide-open, 
free-and-easy  life  which  was  so  greatly  en- 
joyed when  the  habitues  of  the  river  and 
woods  and  prairies  took  a  day  off.  "Give  me 
liberty,  or  give  me  death,"  is  a  slogan  which 
first  had  its  inception  in  the  hearts  and  minds 
of  just  such  men  as  these.  We  are  told  that 
the  first  fight  over  the  proposition  to  incor- 
porate took  place  in  1853,  and  that  it  was  a 
fight  sure  enough.  There  were  hatreds  en- 
gendered at  that  time  that  lived  and  smould- 
ered and  flared  forth  now  and  then  for  many 
and  many  a  year.  After  the  lapse  of  nearly 
seventy-five  years  the  high-lights  and  salient 
points  of  this  particular  picture  of  border  days 
have  faded  into  nothingness.  The  fight  was 
a  bitter  one,  it  is  true,  but  one  can  scarcely 
get  head  or  tail  of  it.  In  some  quarters  it  is 
said  that  it  was  a  conflict  of  "the  new  com- 
ers" against  the  old-timers,"  a  conflict  of 
"new  ideas"  against  "old,"  an  arraying  of  the 
growing  church  element  against  these  primi- 
tive types  of  the  border,  in  order  to  control 
them,  if  only  in  a  small  way,  and  restrain  the 
wild  and  hilarious  spirit  that  so  readily  mani- 
fested itself  whenever  they  met  Elder  Burr, 
the  circuit  rider,  was  prominently  identified 


84  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

as  a  leader  of  the  forces  for  incorporation.  He 
was  threatened,  secretly  and  openly,  by  the 
more  headstrong  of  the  opposing  side.  But  he 
went  his  way,  calm,  imperturable,  temperate 
of  manner  in  his  support  of  the  incorporation 
project,  yet  firm  and  unyielding  as  a  rock  in 
his  purpose. 

As  a  result  of  this  early-day  battle  of  the 
ballots  in  old  Momence,  the  proposition  to  in- 
corporate won  by  a  small  vote,  surprising  as 
it  may  seem.  There  were  hatreds  and  per- 
sonal dislikes  and  jealousies  that  registered  in 
this  first  election.  The  result  was  hardly  a 
genuine  reflex  of  the  real,  underlying  senti- 
ment in  the  minds  of  the  voters.  They  had 
"got  even"  with  someone,  that's  all.  Momence 
set  out  uncertainly  upon  the  new  municipal 
life  called  for  by  ordinances  and  state  laws. 
The  very  first  levying  of  a  corporation  tax 
occasioned  a  roar  of  protest  on  the  part  of 
both  the  "fors"  and  "against."  With  the  is- 
suance of  the  decree  of  "poll-tax"  on  every 
male  head  of  voting  age  within  the  corpor- 
ation, there  came  positive  rebellion.  They 
would  not  pay  three  dollars,  neither  would 
they  work  in  lieu  of  not  paying,  upon  the 
streets  of  the  village.  On  this  they  were  united 
— unanimous — for  once  in  their  lives.     Our 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  85 

friends  who  had  supported  so  whole-heartedly 
this  move  towards  civilization  were  as  unruly, 
as  boisterous  and  rantankerous  as  a  two-year 
old  Texas  steer  when  he  first  feels  the  rope 
tighten  on  his  neck.  The  newly  elected  of- 
ficers, swelled  with  a  proper  sense  of  their 
importance  and  the  dignity  of  office,  on  find- 
ing their  orders  disregarded  by  the  populace, 
proceeded  to  make  an  example  of  some  of  the 
more  prominent  of  the  objectors  and,  in  ef- 
fect, undertook  to  "hog-tie"  and  "brand"  them 
as  undesirable  citizens.  The  majesty  of  the 
newborn  authority  of  statutes  and  ordinances 
was  invoked  and  the  recalcitrants  were  pro- 
perly sued  and  properly  found  guilty  of  a  dis- 
regard for  the  mandates  of  the  law  as  admin- 
istered by  its  officers. 

Though  they  were  found  guilty  they 
would  not  pay,  and  the  remaining  alternative, 
that  of  working,  they  spurned  as  something 
beneath  the  consideration  of  freemen.  By 
this  act  they  added  to  the  sum  total  of  their 
delinquencies  that  of  lese-majeste,  which  is 
most  serious  indeed,  except  in  cases  where 
frontiersmen  are  concerned.  The  municipal- 
ity, at  that  time,  had  not  achieved  financial 
prosperity  sufficient  to  enable  it  to  have  a 
calaboose,    and    the  village    marshal    would 


86  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

have  as  quickly  considered  suicide  as  he  would 
an  order  to  arrest  and  incarcerate  these  bor- 
der men  who  resented  corporate  encroach- 
ment on  their  personal  liberties.  In  the  end, 
several  of  these  cases  were  appealed  to  high- 
er courts,  and  there,  apparently,  the  matter 
dropped.  Under  such  discouraging  circum- 
stances was  organized  law  ushered  into  the 
old  river  settlement  of  Momence.  This  sub- 
stitution of  the  new  order  for  the  old  lived 
but  a  day,  and  then  slowly  but  surely  with- 
ered and  faded  away  completely,  so  that  for 
several  years  following  this  attempt  at  incor- 
poration, the  place  knew  no  other  law  but  that 
of  the  border — f  orce.  It  was  not  until  the  late 
fifties  that  incorporation  became  a  recognized 
fact,  and  round  about  1860,  when  the  trustees 
put  into  effect  an  ordinance  restraining  the 
cows  of  the  villagers  from  running  at  large,  it 
was  then  that  citizen  Peter  Terrill  was  mov- 
ed to  observe  to  Justice  M.  0.  Clark:  "It  do 
beat  all  how  there's  always  more  damn  fools 
than  smart  men!" 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE 


87 


This  is  a  Photographic  Reproduction  of  a  Section 
of  aj  Famous  Coverlet  of  Pioneer  Days,  Made  by 
Mrs.  Maria  Gundy  Nichols,  Wife  of  "William 
Nichols,  one  of  the  Earliest  Pioneers.  It  is  an 
Intricate  "Two-Color"  Design  and  a  Work  of 
Art.  It  was  Made  on  what  was  Known  as  a 
"Double  Loom,  Situated  in  a  Log  Cabin  Across 
the  Road  Prom  the  Present  Home  of  Mrs.  Malinda 
Nichols,  Northeast  of  Momence.  The  Pattern  is 
White  and  Blue,  and  Mrs.  Maria  Nichols  Carded, 
Spun  and  Colored  the  Wool  Used  in  the  weaving. 
It  was  Made  Some  Years  Prior  to  Her  Death, 
Which    Occurred   in    1838. 


88  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

AN  ANCIENT  HUNTING  GROUND 

I. 

Momence,  as  a  frontier  town,  was  most 
happily  situated  on  the  outskirts  of  one  of 
the  finest  hunting  grounds  in  all  the  middle 
west— famous  Beaver  Lake.  If  we  are  to  be- 
lieve fully  the  testimony  of  men  who  lived 
here  and  hunted  and  trapped  and  fished  in 
primeval  days,  before  the  destructive  blight 
of  so-called  civilization  had  fallen  upon  the 
land,  the  great  marshes  of  the  Kankakee  sur- 
passed in  extent  and  prodigal  abundance  any 
other  spot  in  the  United  States.  Where  the 
Kankakee  emerges  from  across  the  state-line 
of  Indiana  into  Illinois,  after  miles  on  miles 
of  tortuous  turnings  and  twistings,  it  pauses 
for  a  space  and  disposes  its  flood  in  quiet  laby- 
rinthine channels  among  islands,  overflowing 
into  shady  nooks  and  shallow  bayous  and 
marshes. 

Seventy-five  years  ago  these  islands  were 
heavily  timbered  as  was,  also,  much  of  the  ad- 
jacent high  ground.  Fortunately  much  of  this 
timber  still  remains  to  delight  the  eye.  Here 
may  be  found  giant  patriarchs  grimly  holding 
their  ground — oaks,  walnuts,  glorious  elms 
and  the  stately  sycamore.    In  this  day  of  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  89 

twentieth  century  the  bayous  and  marshes 
have  been  curtailed  in  their  dimensions  but, 
for  the  most  part,  are  still  fringed  about  by 
dense  growths  of  black  ash,  "elbow  brush," 
"pucker  brush,"  alder  and  willows,  with  now 
and  then  a  copse  of  pale,  white  birch  so  dis- 
posed that  they  gleam  in  the  winter  moon- 
light like  the  dainty  columns  of  some  secret 
dryad  temple  of  the  wild. 

In  the  early  days  points  up  the  river  from 
Momence  were  designated  as  Little  Yellow 
Banks,  Big  Yellow  Banks,  Hess'  Slough,  The 
Garden  of  Eden,  Indian  Garden;  and  from 
the  state-line,  continuing  upstream  in  Indi- 
ana, Black  Oak,  Huyck's  Bayou,  The  Ox-Bow, 
The  Narrows  and  Blue  Grass,  or  Thayer's 
Landing.  Gurdon  S.  Hubbard  had  a  fur  depot 
at  Blue  Grass  for  years  and,  at  such  times 
when  the  season's  pack  was  transported  to 
Chicago  by  way  of  the  Hubbard  Trail,  his  men 
brought  their  furs  from  Blue  Grass  down  the 
river  as  far  as  the  famous  "Upper  Crossing," 
one  mile  above  the  present  city  of  Momence, 
and  there  turned  them  over  to  the  wilderness 
cavalcade  bound  for  Chicago.  These  spots  are 
historic.  They  have  been  the  abodes  of  the 
hunter,  trapper  and  fisherman  for  a  hundred 
years.    The  historic  Kankakee,  up-stream  in 


90  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Indiana,  has  suffered  irreparable  injury  of 
late  years  on  account  of  an  ambitious  recla- 
mation project  which;  seeks  to  divert  the  wat- 
ers of  the  Kankakee  from  their  old  bed  into 
deeper  and  straighter  channels.  There  are 
places  where  the  bed  of  the  old  stream  is  iso- 
lated— cut-off  entirely  from  the  original 
stream  by  huge  ditches,  staring,  ugly,  straight 
as  a  plummet-line.  The  shades  of  LaSalle  and 
Tonty  would  exclaim  with  righteous  indigna- 
tion at  the  transformation  which  this  ancient 
stream  has  undergone  of  late,  the  stream 
which  they  first  knew  as  the  "Theak-ki-ki," 
beautiful,  winding,  picturesque  in  the  ex- 
treme. 

There  is  no  more  beautiful  stretch  of  riv- 
er in  the  entire  course  of  the  Kankakee  than 
that  which  lies  between  Momence  and  the  In- 
diana state-line.  It  is  native  wilderness  con- 
veniently near  yet,  in  a  sense,  removed  from 
the  centers  of  population.  Deep  in  its  shad- 
ows the  trapper  still  lingers,  and  the  pale  blue 
wood  smoke  which  rises  here  and  there  above 
the  fringe  of  timber,  proclaims  the  summer 
home  of  the  habitant  with  a  taint  of  the  pri- 
meval in  his  blood.  These  sheltered  places 
still  harbor  the  red-bird,  the  blue-bird,  the 
thrush  and  various  other  of  nature's  song- 


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92  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

sters  who  thrill  the  heart  of  the  wayfarer 
with  a  flash  of  dazzling  color,  and  delight  the 
ear  with  song  unchanged  and  unchanging 
with  the  years  from  the  earliest  day  when 
creation  dawned.  These  places  are  still  haunt- 
ed in  numbers  by  the  shrewd,  lazy,  lumbering 
crow,  who,  from  sheer  deviltry,  preys  upon 
the  farmer  and  thus  provokes  his  ire,  when 
he  could  just  as  easily  get  his  living  in  the 
woods.  Here  the  blackbird  hosts  seem  undi- 
minished. The  wild,  sweet  note  of  Bob-White, 
heard  once  in  this  wilderness  paradise  of  the 
upper  Kankakee,  will  haunt  one  to  the  end  of 
his  days.  The  wood-ducks,  the  mallards,  the 
pin-tails  and  blue-bills  as  though  mindful  of 
traditions  of  the  long  ago,  still  patronize  these 
charming  nooks  on  the  Kankakee  between 
Momence  and  the  state-line,  not  in  numbers,  it 
is  true,  but  enough  so  to  give  an  air  of  real- 
ism to  the  ancient  habitat  that  was.  There  is 
a  fox  taken  now  and  then,  a  mink,  a  skunk, 
a  family  of  raccoons.  How  these  dwellers 
of  the  wild  do  cling  to  their  own!  From  the 
deepest  and  darkest  of  these  sylvan  retreats 
a  wolf  comes  forth  stealthily,  even  in  this  day, 
and  raids  a  neighboring  hen-house,  notwith- 
standing there  is  a  price  on  his  head.  And, 
when  he  falls  at  last  before  the  dogs  of  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  93 

white  man,  he  loses  his  scalp  but  gets  from 
three  to  six  lines  solid  in  the  local  paper.  He 
is  a  member  of  society  more  dreaded  than  the 
"bootlegger,"  hence  his  taking  off  is  worthy 
of  notice. 

In  this  nook  of  remaining  wilderness 
above  Momence,  wherever  the  shallow  waters 
of  the  Kankakee  reach  landward  and  form  a 
bayou  there,  in  numbers,  appears  the  quaint 
homes  of  the  musk-rats,  built  in  the  shape, 
in  the  same  manner,  and  of  the  same  mater- 
ials as  were  used  yesterday — (two  hundred 
years  ago,  when  the  French  came  down  the 
river),  or  let  us  say,  last  week,  (a  thousand 
years  ago),  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing 
in  the  chronology  of  the  patient,  plodding 
rats.  Do  we  weary  you  with  these  small  de- 
tails of  the  river  wilderness?  We  hope  not. 
Only  mankind  is  fickle  and  unstable  and 
changing  in  his  moods.  The  dwellers  of  the 
wild,  through  instinct,  follow  an  unvarying 
plan  of  doing  things.  They  rarely  or  never 
deviate  from  it.  Perhaps  you  have  not  been 
impressed  by  the  fact  that,  from  the  earliest 
days,  the  skin  of  the  musk-rat  has  had  a  com- 
mercial value,  varying  of  course,  with  the 
times.  In  1849  the  trapper  would  call  for  a 
drink  of  whiskey  over  the  backwoods  bar  at 


A   TYPICAL   TRAPPER'S    CABIN 

It  Leans  a  Little,  and  its  Boards  are 
Weathered  and  Gray,  but,  if  it  Lacks  in 
Luxury,  it  has  Peace  and  Quiet  and  Deep 
Content. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  95 

Momence,  and  throw  down  a  rat  hide  in  pay- 
ment therefor.  "The  musk-rat  hide  was  the 
"small  change"  of  the  frontier  for  many  and 
many  a  year.  During  the  late  war  the  price 
of  a  prime,  dark  musk-rat  skin  was  six  to 
seven  dollars.  We  tell  you  upon  the  authority 
of  a  "shantyman"  of  the  Kankakee  whose 
word  we  respect,  that  the  finest  of  all  musk- 
rat  skins  used  for  milady's  coat,  those  skins 
which  are  dark  and  glossy  and  thick,  and 
which  bespeak  elegance,  come  mainly  from 
the  bayous  and  ditches  of  the  great  swamp 
region  of  the  Kankakee.  It  pays  sometimes 
to  cultivate  your  next-door  neighbor.  He 
may  not  prove  to  be  a  college-bred  man,  but 
he  is  wise  to  the  little  things  of  the  realm  in 
which  he  lives,  the  possessor  of  a  degree  in 
that  great  university  of  the  out  of  doors. 

There  are  huts,  habitations  of  mankind, 
set  in  this  charming  bit  of  up-river  wilder- 
ness of  today  and  well-worn  paths  lead  to 
them  and  away  until  they  lose  themselves  in 
interminable  turnings  and  twistings.  These 
paths,  more  ancient  still  than  anything  the 
wilderness  holds  except  the  river  itself,  were 
made  by  the  feet  of  the  Pottawattomi  dwell- 
ers long  ago.  The  man  of  the  city  presses  re- 
lentlessly upon  the  outskirts  of  this  wild  do- 


96  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

main  with  his  summer  home  so  that  the  man 
of  the  hut,  appalled  at  the  thought  of  frater- 
nizing with  affluence  and  luxury,  shrinks 
more  deeply  into  the  shadow  of  the  sheltered 
spots  and  turns  his  back  upon  it  all.  You  say 
he  is  peculiar?  Well,  perhaps  so.  But,  one 
must  remember,  there  is  a  "kick-back,"  as 
they  used  to  say  in  old  times,  when  alluding 
to  a  man's  ancestral  lines — a  "kick-back"  to 
sires  who  lived  by  the  open  fire,  out  under 
the  stars,  and  who  fraternized  with  the  Pot- 
tawattomi  and  nature.  These  later-day  huts 
lean  noticeably  and  the  boards  are  weathered 
and  gray.  Within,  one  will  find  the  stub  of 
a  candle  or  a  kerosene  lamp  instead  of  an  elec- 
tric bulb.  The  library  is  a  newspaper,  days 
old.  There  is  a  small,  rusty  stove,  a  limited 
array  of  dented  tinware — a  piece  or  two  of 
crockery,  much  chipped.  There  is  a  breech- 
loading  gun  and  accoutrements,  traps,  and 
fishing  paraphernalia  in  abundance.  This 
habitant  of  the  silent  places  is  not  much  con- 
cerned in  business,  political  parties  and  poli- 
cies, or  education.  That  function  which  would 
be  most  likely  to  enlist  his  presence  and  in- 
sure his  staying  up  late  at  night,  would  be  a 
poker  party.  Generally,  he  stalls  not  at  a 
glass  of  whiskey.  His  most  intimate  personal 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  97 

accompaniments  are  a  strong,  black  pipe  and  a 
hound  dog  or  two  with  lopping  ears,  wise  as 
their  master.  In  this  day  he  foregoes  the  pic- 
turesque garb  of  the  hunter  and  trapper  for 
he  has  outlived  the  days  of  buckskin,  which 
was  the  fabric  of  the  frontier,  and  cotton 
textiles  are  abundant  and  cheap.  In  this  bit 
of  virgin  wild  of  the  Kankakee  he  lingers  for 
a  space,  the  only  connecting  link  between  the 
simple  life  of  the  old  frontier  and  the  flam- 
ing, heedless,  headlong  luxury  of  the  great 
twentieth  century.  In  another  generation  he, 
too,  will  have  passed,  and  among  the  thous- 
ands who  follow  there  will  not  be  one  to  take 
his  place — the  life  is  too  slow ! 

II. 

Above  Momence  a  little  way  the  Kan- 
kakee, as  if  conscious  that  the  swamps  and 
bayous  and  gleaming  yellow  sands  have  been 
left  behind,  gathers  her  tide  serenely  between 
high  banks  and  swings  away  to  the  southwest 
in  long,  graceful,  sinuous  curves,  broadening 
perceptibly  and  growing  in  beauty  and  ma- 
jesty at  every  mile  as  she  hurries  through  the 
beautiful  vale  of  the  Kankakee  to  her  meet- 
ing with  the  DesPlaines.     The  swamps  and 


98  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

bayous  between  Momence  and  the  Indiana 
state-line  are  but  the  beginnings  of  the  "Great 
Kankakee  Marsh,"  whose  huge  dimensions 
numbering  thousands  upon  thousands  of 
acres,  overspread  mile  on  mile  of  Indiana  ter- 
ritory north  and  south  of  the  river  and  east 
of  the  Indiana  line.  There  were  vast  open 
stretches  of  water  set  with  oak-crowned  is- 
lands, thousands  of  acres  of  shallow  marsh 
grown  up  to  cat-tails,  wild  rice  and  rushes, 
the  nesting  ground  of  the  wild,  migratory 
hordes  of  the  upper  air.  From  time  imme- 
morial this  was  a  famous  hunting  ground  for 
the  Miamis,  the  Wyandottes,  the  Illinois,  and 
more  particularly  the  Pottawattomi  of  the 
Prairie  and  the  Kankakee,  whose  domain  it 
came  at  last  to  be.  Abundant  evidences  of 
Indian  occupation  are  still  found  in  this  day 
where  the  winds,  in  their  play,  make  eddies 
in  the  sands  of  the  ridges  about  the  old  lake 
bed,  revealing  an  ancient  arrow-head,  or  stone 
axe  or  other  trophy  which  the  practiced  eye 
of  the  modern  collector  seizes  upon  and  bears 
away  in  triumph. 

Mr.  Edward  Hamilton,  of  Morocco,  In- 
diana, after  fifty  years  devoted  to  this  inter- 
esting pursuit,  has  acquired  a  most  valuable 
and  interesting  collection  of  flint  and  stone 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  99 

implements,  indispensable  to  aboriginal  life. 
The  collection  contains  about  everything  of 
which  the  Indian  made  use  in  his  daily  life. 
Among  the  hundreds  of  arrow-heads,  awls, 
drills,  mortars,  skinning  tools,  banner-stones 
and  ceremonial  stones  contained  in  this  col- 
lection, the  smaller  "bird-points,"  three-quar- 
ters of  an  inch  in  length,  exquisitely  fashioned, 
more  often  moves  the  visitor  to  delighted  ex- 
clamation. That  these  pieces  were  patiently 
chipped  by  the  native  workman  by  means  of 
the  notched  flint  seems  at  first  impossible. 
Whatever  the  means  he  employed  the  ancient 
arrow-maker  was  a  master  craftsman  who 
carried  the  secrets  of  his  art  with  him  when 
he  passed.  These  pieces  which  the  sands  re- 
veal to  us  in  this  day  are  memorials  of  an  era 
when  the  Indian  reigned  supreme  in  the  great 
swamp  region. 

When,  and  by  whom,  were  these  retreats 
of  "Big  Bogus,"  "Little  Bogus"  and  the  Beaver 
Lake  country  generally,  discovered  and  made 
use  of?  That  is  a  query  which,  in  all  proba- 
bility, will  forever  remain  unanswered.  La- 
Salle's  men,  as  early  as  1679,  must  have  avail- 
ed themselves  of  the  plenty  abounding  there, 
even  though  it  was  late  December  when  he 
made  his  memorable  trip  down  the  Kankakee. 


100  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Father  Hennepin  recorded  the  fact  that  his 
Mohican  hunters  were  abroad,  that  LaSalle 
himself  got  lost  in  the  oak  scrub  and  sand- 
dunes,  and  that  somewhere,  southwest  of  the 
portage,  they  ran  across  a  buffalo  bull  hope- 
lessly mired  in  the  river  muck.  The  nearest 
approach  to  a  fixed  date  when  a  white  man 
hunted  in  the  Beaver  Lake  region,  is  that 
mentioned  by  the  famous  pioneer  trader,  Gur- 
don  S.  Hubbard,  in  his  memoirs — March  1827. 
Long  before  that  day,  however,  the  French 
voyageur  and  coureur  de  bois  hunted  and 
trapped  and  fished  the  Kankakee  and  its 
marsh  environs,  but  these  men  left  no  writ- 
ten record  of  their  comings  and  goings.  They 
were  frontiersmen — not  writers. 

There  was  a  section  of  the  Kankakee 
where  the  river  writhed  and  twisted  and  turn- 
ed back  upon  itself  in  a  series  of  startling  zig- 
zag movements  as  a  result  of  the  uncertain 
meanderings  of  the  ancient  ice-cap,  which 
moved  ever  so  slowly  and  ploughed  a  chan- 
nel for  the  stream — a  nook  of  twisting  river 
and  shallow  swamps,  lying  to  the  south-east 
of  DeMotte,  Indiana,  and  extending  to  the 
state-line,  which  was  as  sweet  a  paradise  for 
the  hunter  and  trapper  as  ever  existed  any- 
where under  the  sun.     In  this  bit  of  river 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  101 

country,  east  from  Shelby,  Indiana,  there  was 
first,  "Bumbaloo,"  the  wilderness  home  of 
that  sturdy  Canadian,  "Hank"  Granger ;  then 
Little  Hickory,  Red  Oak,  Indian  Garden, 
(which  must  not  be  confused  with  Indian  Gar- 
den located  above  Momence),  Jerry's  Island1 
(named  after  old  Jerry  Kinney),  Beech  Ridge, 
French  Island,  and  Grape  Island.  In  this  day  a 
perfectly  new  river  channel  operates  from  a 
point  or  bend  in  the  Kankakee  above  Grape  Is- 
land in  an  air  line  to  the  state-line,  and  the  an- 
cient river  bed,  thus  cut  off,  is  now  grown  up 
to  saw-grass,  cat-tails  and  rushes,  with  now 
and  then  a  stagnant  pool,  covered  with  green 
scum.  Here  in  this  once  delightful  nook  of 
the  Kankakee,  such  men  as  Folsom,  Brainerd, 
Ritter,  Granger,  Seymour,  Summers,  Dusen- 
berg,  Sweeney,  Bissell,  Goodrich,  Broady  and 
Irvin,  old-timers  with  a  reputation  both  sides 
of  the  state-line,  carried  on  for  years. 

Returning  to  Gurdon  S.  Hubbard,  the 
trader,  an  unusual  experience  incident  to  the 
trip  of  March  1827  to  Beaver  Lake,  is  of  in- 
terest, and  we  reproduce  it. 

"One  cold  March  day  in  1827,  I  went  to 
the  Beaver  Creek  Lake  for  a  hunt.  This  was 
a  part  of  the  great  Kankakee  Marsh,  and 
geese  and  ducks  and  swan  were  very  abund- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  103 

ant.  The  fall  previous  I  had  hidden  a  canoe 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  lake  and  about  thirteen 
miles  from  my  trading  house,  and  this  I  found 
with  little  difficulty.  I  hunted  until  nearly 
dark,  when,  thinking  it  was  too  dark  to  re- 
turn home,  I  camped  for  the  night  on  a  small 
island  in  the  lake.  There  were  no  trees,  but 
I  made  a  fire  of  driftwood,  and  having  cook- 
ed some  game  for  my  supper,  lay  down  and 
soon  fell  asleep.  Sometime  in  the  night  I 
awoke  in  great  pain,  and  found  that  my  fire 
had  nearly  burned  out.  I  managed  to  replen- 
ish it,  but  the  pain  continued,  being  most  se- 
vere in  my  legs,  and  by  morning  it  increased 
to  such  an  extent  that  I  could  not  reach  the 
canoe.  About  ten  o'clock  an  Indian  came 
down  to  the  lake  and  I  called  to  him  and  told 
him  of  my  condition,  and  with  his  assistance 
reached  the  canoe,  and  finally  the  main  shore. 
I  sent  the  Indian  to  Iroquois  (Bunkum),  with 
orders  for  my  men  to  come  and  bring  with 
them  a  horse  and  harness.  On  their  arrival 
I  had  the  horse  hitched  to  the  canoe  and  my- 
self placed  therein,  and  started  in  this  man- 
ner to  ride  home.  I  soon  found  that  I  could 
not  stand  the  jarring  of  the  canoe  as  it  was 
drawn  over  the  rough  ground,  and  halted  until 
some  better  means  of  travel  could  be  devised. 


104  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

I  sent  back  to  Iroquois  for  two  more  men, 
which  necessitated  my  camping  for  one  night 
more.  On  their  arrival  they  constructed,  with 
poles  and  blankets,  a  litter  upon  which  they 
bore  me  safely  and  quite  comfortably  home. 
I  had  a  severe  attack  of  inflammatory  rheu- 
matism, which  confined  me  to  the  house  for 
three  or  four  weeks,  and  from  which  I  did  not 
fully  recover  for  eighteen  months.  I  doctored 
myself  with  poultices  of  elm  and  decoctions  of 
various  herbs." 

III. 

During  the  old  days  of  the  border  and 
later,  on  the  advent  of  spring  when  the  my- 
riad hosts  of  the  air,  ducks,  geese,  brant, 
crane,  swan  and  blue  heron  poured  in  untold 
numbers  into  this  natural  haven  of  the  wild, 
it  was  then  that  the  youth  and  middle-aged 
of  the  little  settlement  of  Momence,  on  the 
river,  were  stirred  to  feverish  activity  and 
prepared  for  a  campaign  of  slaughter.  Their 
numbers  were  increased  by  hunters  from  the 
countryside  and  from  far  and  near,  for  the 
season  of  sport  and  plenty  was  on.  For  the 
hunters  of  the  Illinois  country  and  beyond, 
Momence  was  the  gateway.  But,  before  the 
Promised  Land  of  this  great  game  retreat 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  105 

could  be  reached,  however,  the  awful  mud  of 
"Lynd's  Lane"  had  to  be  negotiated.  "Lynd's 
Lane"  originates  near  the  Lorain  School  south 
of  the  river  and,  for  years,  has  been  the  chief 
artery  of  travel  to  the  east  and  the  Beaver 
Lake  country.  This  road  of  late  years  has 
been  robbed  of  most  of  its  terrors  by  reason 
of  having  been  drained  and  built  up  of  stone. 
"Lynd's  Lane"  in  the  days  of  the  frontier, 
however,  was  a  meandering  trail  south  of 
the  river  that  wound  its  way  uncertainly  to 
the  east  among  quagmires,  islands  of  bul- 
rushes and  "elbow  brush,"  across  boggy, 
springy  stretches  of  quaking  marsh  up  to  the 
near  vicinity  of  the  Tiffany  Brick  Works  of 
today,  where  Dr.  Lynds  formerly  had  his 
home.  The  swamp  in  its  entirety  is  known  as 
"Hess*  Slough."  This  lane,  then,  in  reality 
"Dr.  Lynd's  Lane,"  by  a  peculiar  colloquial 
lapse  on  the  part  of  Momence  citizens,  is  call- 
ed by  every  mother's  son  of  them  "Lyon's 
Lane." 

At  most  times  of  the  year  but  more  partic- 
ularly in  the  spring  and  fall,  it  was  a  bottom- 
less morass  of  sticky,  clinging  mud.  It  was 
the  bete  noir  of  the  traveler  and  the  hunter 
by  whom  it  was  tacitly  admitted  that  it  pos- 
sessed all  the  qualities  claimed  by  a  certain 


106 


TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


THE  SITE  OF  HUBBARD'S 
TRADING  POST 

There  was  a  Time  When  the  Life  of 
the  Wilderness  Revolved  Around  This 
Spot.  Here  Gurdon  S.  Hubbard  had  his 
Trading  Post  on  the  Iroquois  as  early 
as  1828.  The  old  "Trail"  Marks  are 
Still  Visible  Near  by  but  Everything 
Else  has  Vanished. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  107 

darkey  for  his  coon-trap,  viz :  "If  hit  doan  git 
'em  a-comin,,  hit  sure  will  git  'em  when  dey's 
a-gwine!"  Ah,  many  a  hunter  caught  in  its 
treacherous  depths  has  made  known  to  a 
waiting  world  in  language  vigorous,  profane, 
picturesque,  that  "comin'  or  gwine,"  it  was  all 
the  same  to  "Lyon's  Lane."  Many  a  rig  stuck 
in  its  tenacious  depths  had  to  be  lightened  of 
its  load  before  a  wheel  could  turn.  Many  a 
returning  hunter  found  it  necessary  to  sac- 
rifice the  greater  part  of  his  kill  to  the  insat- 
iable maw  of  "Lyon's  Lane."  The  terrors  of 
"Lyon's  Lane,"  in  time,  were  not  only  anatha- 
matized  in  good,  old-fashioned  orthodox  style, 
but  apostrophized,  as  the  following  quatrain 
of  frontier  origin  will  show : 

"There  is  a  place  called  'Lyon's  Lane,' 

That's  always  filled  with  mud; 
And  hunters   plunged  beneath  that  flood, 
Lose  all  their  ducks  and  game!" 

Scattered  throughout  this  wide  country 
of  ours,  in  almost  every  state  in  the  Union, 
are  old,  gray-haired  men  who,  at  some  time 
in  their  youth,  braved  the  mud  of  "Lyon's 
Lane,"  the  rain  and  sleet  and  snows  of  early 
March,  to  lay  in  a  "blind"  made  of  "cat-tails," 
wild  rice  and  rushes  piled  high  in  the  lee  of 
a  convenient  musk-rat  house  in  the  "Black 


108      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Marsh,"  and  took  toll  of  the  wild  horde  as  it 
came  tumbling  in.  Blessed  is  he  who  lived  in 
those  primitive  days.  For  all  such  there  is 
an  inheritance  of  stirring  memories  that 
thrills  the  blood  and  quickens  the  pulse. 

How  is  one  to  go  about  it  to  tell  the  inter- 
esting story  of  this  moving  picture  of  wild  life 
of  the  long  ago  ?  As  Judge  Hunter  says :  "Man ! 
Man !  Man !  The  spectacle  was  too  stupendous 
for  words!  He  would  have  to  have  known 
something  of  those  days ;  he  should  have  lived 
in  the  swamps  as  I  did,  weeks  and  months  at 
a  time ;  he  would  have  to  have  the  echo  of  the 
deafening  clamor  of  all  this  wild  life  in  his 
ears,  and  sense  the  beating  of  thousands  of 
wings  in  the  air,  and  envision  the  gray-white 
bodies  and  yellow  legs  of  these  mighty  hosts 
all  set  to  drop  into  the  open  water  spaces 
among  the  rushes  and  wild  rice!  A  man  who 
seeks  to  understand  it  all  should  have,  at  some 
time  in  his  life,  experienced  that  mighty  thrill 
of  elation  that  comes  to  the  hunter  when,  at 
the  crack  of  his  gun,  not  one  but  half  a  dozen, 
maybe  a  dozen  fine  birds  came  tumbling  down 
into  the  water!  A  man  would  have  to  know 
all  that  means  and  more — and  then  he  could 
not  make  novice  understand." 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  109 

Often  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  the  marsh 
would  be  burned  over,  at  least  sections  of  it 
would  be,  but  it  never  burned  cleanly.  Here 
and  there  would  be  left  islands  of  rushes,  saw- 
grass,  cat-tails  and  other  swamp  growth,  in 
the  center  of  which  was  generally  to  be  found 
a  musk-rat  house  or  two.  The  hunter  would 
push  his  boat  into  a  standing  mass  like  this 
and,  where  there  happened  to  be  a  musk-rat 
house,  he  would  kick  a  trench  through  the 
top  of  it  and  run  his  boat  therein.  He  would 
then  tear  out  the  top  of  an  adjoining  musk- 
rat  habitation  in  which  to  accommodate  his 
dogs  and  the  game  as  fast  as  they  brought  it 
in.  A  good  retriever  in  that  day  surely  earned 
his  board  and  keep.  A  hunter  with  a  good  dog 
never  paid  any  attention  to  the  game  as  it 
fell  to  his  gun.  It  was  the  dog's  business  to 
bring  it  in,  and  he  was  faithful  to  the  job. 
When  the  shooting  was  brisk  he  was  in  the 
ice-cold  water  for  hours  at  a  time,  and  when 
the  wind  blew  cold  so  that  the  spray  froze 
on  the  sides  of  the  boat,  icicles  hung  like  pend- 
ants from  the  dog's  shaggy  coat,  and  tinkled 
like  castanets.  At  the  camp  a  cosy  box  of 
straw  awaited  him  nearby  the  stove  and,  after 
a  generous  feed  of  coarse  cornmeal  mush,  he 


110  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

turned  in  and  immediately  forgot  the  trials 
and  hardships  of  the  day. 

In  the  spring  the  fly-way  was  from  the 
southwest  to  the  northeast.  At  this  time 
small,  red-head  teal  occupied  these  waters  lit- 
erally by  the  hundreds  of  thousands.  Out  on 
the  broad  expanse  of  the  lake  proper  and  the 
open  reaches  of  that  famous  hunting  ground 
known  as  the  "Gaff  Ranch,"  there  dwelt  the 
mallards,  geese  and  swan  literally  by  the  acre. 
Judge  Hunter  recalls  that  often  as  he  laid  in 
his  "blind  he  has  watched  a  flight  of  these 
red-heads  go  over,  scarcely  six  feet  above  his 
head,  a  veritable  cloud  of  them  acres  in  ex- 
tent, a  living  blanket  four  or  five  feet  in  thick- 
ness as  it  seemed.  How  they  can  fly  in  such 
numbers  and  not  interfere  with  one  another 
is  one  of  the  secrets  of  wild  life  known  on- 
ly to  the  habitants  of  the  wild.  These  birds 
were  small  and  seldom  shot  at  for  the  reason 
that  the  real  hunter  disdained  to  waste  his 
powder  and  shot  on  them,  but  waited  for  the 
mallard,  pin-tail,  geese  and  swan — something 
worth  while.  Decoys  were  plentifully  used  in 
the  old  days,  and  long  before  the  day  of  the 
"duck-callers"  or  "squawkers,"  there  were 
many  hunters  who  could  successfully  lure 
the   mallards   and   pin-tails   to    circle    over 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  111 

them.  Walter  Hobbie  could  imitate  the 
"honk"  of  a  goose  with  that  high-pitched  nasal 
twang  of  his  so  that  a  bird  within  earshot 
would  stop,  look  and  listen.  Frank  Longpre 
of  Momence,  however,  in  his  palmy  days, 
could  just  naturally  make  a  goose  get  down 
among  the  rushes  and  look  for  him,  his  wild, 
strident  "honk"  sounding  for  all  the  world 
like  "Whar  are  yuh !  Whar  are  yuh !  Whar  are 
yuh!" 

Joseph  Kite,  a  nearby  resident  of  Lake 
Village,  Indiana,  a  member  of  the  well-re- 
membered Kite  Brothers'  hunting  organiza- 
tion of  the  early  days,  became  thoughtful  and 
reminiscent  when  approached  on  the  question 
Beaver  Lake's  glorious  days  of  plenty.  Cold, 
hard  figures,  even  though  one  employs  the 
term  thousands,  or  hundreds  of  thousands, 
fail  to  adequately  express  the  idea  of  unlim- 
ited numbers  of  wild  fowl  that  occupied  the 
waters  of  the  lake  and  the  adjacent  nesting 
grounds  of  the  marshes,  in  the  opinion  of  Mr. 
Kite.  Beaver  Lake  contained,  roughly  speak- 
ing, thirty-five  to  forty  thousand  acres,  most- 
ly covered  with  water.  Therefore,  he  would 
use  the  term  "acres,"  as  most  expressive  of 
numbers  of  the  mallards,  geese,  brant,  and 
swan  that  frequented  the  place.    The  swan 


112  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


especially  were  numerous.  He  has  stood  in 
the  door  of  his  shack  on  Johnson  Island  and 
shot  them.  He  and  his  brothers  brought  in 
one  day  a  top-box  wagon  load  of  these  birds. 
They  used  to  ship  them  to  Chicago.  Sometimes 
they  would  get  one  dollar  apiece  for  swan 
that  weighed  from  seventeen  to  twenty 
pounds.  More  often  they  got  less,  and  not  in- 
frequently it  happened  that  the  commission 
man  forgot  them  entirely.  The  wagon  load 
of  swan  mentioned  they  did  not  ship,  but 
skinned  the  carcasses  and  tacked  them  up 
on  the  walls  of  their  shack  to  dry.  These 
skins  had  a  commercial  value  over  and  above 
the  meat,  which  was  excellent.  The  feathers 
of  pure  white  were  valuable,  and  after  they 
were  extracted  there  was  left  the  beautiful, 
soft,  white  down  which,  in  the  early  days, 
constituted  the  genuine  "swan's-down,"  so 
much  esteemed  for  the  trimming  of  ladies' 
garments.  Their  efforts  in  this  instance,  how- 
ever, met  with  disaster.  The  moths  got  into 
them  and  ruined  the  entire  lot. 

There  was  an  element  of  the  spectacu- 
lar and  the  beautiful  in  this  moving  picture 
of  the  wild  life  of  the  lake,  especially  at  such 
times  when  the  swan  rose  in  numbers  from 
the  surface  of  the  water,  a  roaring,  turbulent, 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  113 

billowy  mass,  their  white  breasts  and  wings 
glowing  with  an  irridescence  like  mother  of 
pearl  where  the  sunlight  was  reflected  from 
them.  At  other  times  they  would  come  head- 
on  into  the  wind,  twisting,  rolling  like  a  milk- 
white  cloud. 

Victor  Brassard,  of  Momence,  as  a  youth 
hunted  with  his  father  in  the  days  of  Beaver 
Lake's  plenty.  His  observations  are  inter- 
esting. Often,  he  says,  ducks  and  geese  were 
slaughtered  by  the  thousands  merely  for  their 
feathers,  for,  in  that  day  of  the  frontier,  ev- 
ery well  ordered  household  had  feather  beds, 
since  replaced  by  the  more  modern  mattress. 
There  was  always  a  market  for  the  feathers 
and  fairly  good  prices  the  rule.  Heavy  birds 
like  geese  and  swan,  on  rising  make  a  run 
head  on  into  the  wind.  The  airplane  of  to- 
day employs  much  the  same  tactics  to  insure  a 
successful  get-away.  Sometimes  numbers  of 
these  birds  would  be  stampeded  into  attempt- 
ing flight  before  they  had  a  chance  to  ac- 
quire momentum  by  running  into  the  wind, 
and  the  result  was  always  a  squawking,  dis- 
organized, helter-skelter  mass,  helpless  before 
the  guns  of  the  hunters. 

The  flight  of  these  vast  hordes  in  their 
fall  migration  to  the  south  was  an  interesting 


114  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

and  impressive  spectacle.  One  could  count 
upon  its  taking  place  anywhere  from  the  20th 
to  the  31st  of  October  and  rarely  miss  it.  The 
"swamp-rat,"  wise  to  every  sound  and  move- 
ment of  the  wild  seemed  to  be  able  to  fore- 
cast their  departure  with  a  degree  of  success 
that  was  little  short  of  uncanny.  For  sever- 
al days  prior  to  this  great  event,  ducks  and 
geese  would  gather  in  the  open  spaces  of 
water,  a  huge  convention  considering  a 
weighty  enterprise.  Ever  and  anon  there 
would  be  a  terrific  upheaval  in  the  mass  and 
thousands  of  them  would  take  wing  and  mount 
high  and  swing  in  a  mighty  circle  and  fall  into 
their  place  again,  a  unit  of  a  vast  phalanx  get- 
ting ready  to  be  on  the  move.  Day  after  day 
the  observer  in  the  swamps  would  have  beheld 
these  movements  and  marveled  at  them  un- 
less he  was  experienced  enough  with  the  ways 
of  wild  life  to  sense  the  import  of  it  all. 

How,  and  in  what  manner  was  the  great 
hour  of  departure  settled  upon?  How,  indeed! 
It  would  be  interesting  to  know.  Sometimes 
the  leader  of  this  vast  wilderness  concourse 
would  sound  the  warning  note  in  the  dead  of 
night,  sometimes  in  broad  daylight,  and  in- 
stantly the  army  responded,  not  en  masse,  but 
by  battalions  that  took  the  air,  one  after  an- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  115 

other,  in  quick  succession.  As  they  drifted 
off  to  the  south  they  looked  like  ragged  clouds 
that  gradually  assumed  the  V-shaped  forma- 
tion as  they  vanished  on  the  horizon.  To  the 
hunter,  left  behind  in  the  swamps,  this  V- 
shaped  formation  spelled  "Good-Night!" 
"Adieu !"  "Farewell — until  next  spring."  And 
for  years,  in  the  spring,  there  reappeared  in 
mighty  V-shaped  formation,  over  the  fly- 
ways  to  the  south  and  west  these  hosts  of  the 
air  seeking  old  Beaver  Lake,  there  to  meet 
up  with  other  thousands  that  had  tested  out 
their  wings  on  a  flight  from  breeding  grounds 
in  the  Arctic  circle!  And  what  a  clanking  of 
voices  as  they  greeted  one  another.  It  was 
enough  to  drive  one  raving  distracted!  The 
days  of  the  twentieth  century  hold  nothing 
comparable  to  the  plenteous  days  of  old  Beav- 
er Lake  in  her  prime ! 

In  a  land  once  so  abundantly  stocked 
with  all  manner  of  wild  game  and  visited  an- 
nually by  hunters  from  far  and  near,  it  is 
not  surprising  that  the  memory  of  the  "old 
timer"  still  holds  to  traditions  and  tales  of 
unusual  occurrences  in  the  way  of  freak  shots. 
There  is  the  tale  of  the  frontiersman  who 
dropped  two  deer  running  in  opposite  direc- 
tions,   with    a  solitary    bullet.      They  pass- 


116  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

ed,  or  rather,  met,  at  the  opportune  sec- 
ond and  the  bullet  ploughed  through  them. 
There  is  the  story  of  the  man  who  shot  a  sol- 
itary goose  and  brought  it  down,  only  to  have 
it  fall  into  the  open  well  of  a  solitary  dweller 
of  the  marsh,  thereby  necessitating  careful 
search  on  the  part  of  the  hunter.  There  are 
stories  of  unusual  bags  of  game  at  a  single 
shot  on  the  part  of  the  experienced  hunter  and 
the  novice  as  well,  for  the  game  was  so  plen- 
tiful that  almost  anything  could  happen.  Judge 
W.  A.  Hunter  says  that  in  all  his  many  years' 
experience  hunting  on  the  river  and  in  the 
marsh,  the  finest  single  shot  he  ever  witnessed 
was  made  by  that  old-time  artist,  Pierre  Bras- 
sard, of  Momence.  Pierre  Brassard  was  a 
French-Canadian  and  one  of  the  early  set- 
tlers in  the  swamp  environs  of  Momence.  He 
knew  every  inch  of  the  river  and  the  Beaver 
Lake  country,  and,  during  his  long  experience, 
many  a  party  of  hunters  from  New  York,  Bos- 
ton, Philadelphia  and  Chicago,  representing 
the  aristocracy  of  the  fraternity  of  hunters, 
were  piloted  by  him  into  this  lake  paradise. 
Pierre  and  "Billy"  were  out  on  the  river 
above  Momence  one  day,  located  in  "blinds/' 
several  hundred  yards  apart,  when  four  lone 
geese  appeared  on  the  horizon.     They  came 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  117 

in  "quartering,"  that  is,  on  an  angle  with  each 
bird  fully  exposed  but,  apparently,  Pierre  did 
not  see  them.  Mr.  Hunter  says  that,  from  his 
position,  he  could  discern  the  gray  top  of 
Pierre's  "musk-rat"  cap  inert  and  motionless 
above  the  weeds  of  the  blind.  Then,  all  in  a 
second,  the  gray  spot  moved  ever  so  slightly, 
the  barrel  of  his  gun  slid  up  over  the  edge  of 
the  blind  as  if  by  magic,  there  was  a  report 
and  one  after  another  the  four  geese  took  a 
header  towards  the  ground.  He  had  killed  all 
four  at  one  shot.  The  impressive  feature  of 
this  shot,  said  Mr.  Hunter,  was  that  it  was 
calculated.  He  meant  to  drop  all  four  birds  at 
one  shot  and  he  did,  Old  Pierre  was  just  that 
good  with  the  gun. 

Victor  Brassard's  face  lighted  with  a 
knowing  smile  when  he  was  reminded  of  the 
incident  concerning  the  prowess  of  his  father 
as  a  fine  shot.  "That,"  said  he,  "is  peculiarly 
typical  of  father's  style  of  shooting.  I  remem- 
ber one  day  when  father  and  a  friend  of  his, 
and  myself,  went  out  on  the  river  after  ducks. 
We  were  located  in  "blinds,"  not  far  apart  and 
father  said :  'Now,  I  will  take  the  first  shot  as 
they  come  over,  and  then  you  boys  go  after 
them/  But  there  was  nothing  to  go  after. 
The  first  ducks  to  appear  were  three  in  num- 


118  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

ber,  and  father  made  a  "pot  shot"  of  them. 
Next}  came  two,  and  they  fell  likewise.  All  of 
which  goes  to  show  that  there  is  an  instant 
when  game  in  flight  comes  into  alignment 
where  the  charge  will  prove  most  effective, 
and  he  knew  just  that  second  when  to  pull." 

Over  on  the  Kankakee,  not  so  far  away, 
in  between  "Bumbaloo"  and  French  Island, 
there  the  old-timers  still  talk  of  Andy  Grang- 
er's bag  of  thirty-three  geese  in  the  short 
space  of  forty  minutes. 

IV. 

To  fully  appreciate  this  life  of  the  old 
days  in  the  open,  one  should  have  at  some 
time  in  his  career  experienced  not  only  the 
thrills  of  the  hunter,  but  something  of  the 
weariness  of  a  strenuous  day's  shooting  from 
a  boat  or  a  "blind"  in  the  marsh  when  the 
wind  sang  fine  among  the  rushes  and  saw- 
grass  and  bore  down  the  rain  in  fitful  gusts — 
rain  mixed  with  sleet — that  stung  the  face 
and  congealed  the  marrow  in  the  bones.  Hunt- 
ing, even  in  the  old  days,  was  not  "all  beer 
and  skittles."  Even  the  faithful  dog  who 
ranged  far  and  wide  after  every  shot  and 
brought  in  the  birds  that  bulked  high  in  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  119 

boat,  was  glad  when  he  was  "whistled  in"  and 
the  boat's  prow  turned  in  the  direction  of 
home — home,  in  this  case,  being  the  snug  lit- 
tle tent  set  under  the  protecting  arms  of  a 
jack-oak  on  "Hog  Island,"  or  "Tater  Island," 
or  Pigeon  Island,"  or  some  other  island  too 
poor  to  have  a  name.  This  tent  in  the  marsh, 
after  a  long,  hard  day,  gave  a  new  meaning 
to  the  well  known  lines  of  the  poet: 

"Be  it  ever  so  humble. 
There's  no  place  like  home." 

Generally,  a  fellow's  hunting  partner 
happened  in  about  the  same  time.  The  day's 
kill  was  disposed  of  first,  for  there  were  men 
who  did  nothing  else  but  haul  the  game  thus 
killed  to  the  railroad  at  Momence  for  ship- 
ment to  Chicago.  During  the  years  of  the 
early  seventies,  Frank  Longpre  did  much  of 
this  hauling  of  game,  and  between  loads  would 
go  out  and  knock  down  a  goose  or  two  him- 
self. Citizen  Silas  Sink,  a  well  known  resi- 
dent of  the  lake  region,  earned  the  sobriquet 
of  "Captain"  by  operating  a  small  steamboat 
on  the  Kankakee  river  between  Black  Oak, 
in  Indiana,  and  Momence,  Illinois.  It  was  a 
great  convenience  to  the  army  of  hunters  in 
the  swamp,  for  their  game  was  regularly  tak- 
en out  and  needed  supplies  brought  in.  Dur- 


120      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

ing  the  seventies,  one  dozen  fine  mallards 
brought  $1.00  to  $1.75  in  the  Chicago  market. 

After  the  game  had  been  attended  to, 
then  the  sheet-iron  stove  was  lighted  and  sup- 
per gotten  under  way.  These  suppers  in  the 
swamp  camp  were  more  or  less  elaborate  af- 
fairs according  to  the  culinary  skill  of  those 
most  concerned.  A  man  out  hunting  all  day 
and  so  busy  that  he  could  only  snatch  a  "cold 
bite"  now  and  then,  landed  in  at  night  liter- 
ally famished.  A  favorite  expression  used  to 
be  "that  he  could  eat  the  inside  out  of  a 
skunk."  There  was  a  generous  pot  of  coffee, 
a  spiderf ul  of  bacon  and,  if  one's  culinary  ac- 
complishments warranted  so  much,  a  batch 
of  hot  saleratus  biscuits,  together  with  such 
other  accompaniments  as  the  swamp  larder 
contained. 

After  all,  after  a  big  day  afield,  battered 
and  touseled  by  the  winds  and  pelted  by  a 
cold  rain,  what  is  there  that  can  approach  the 
joy  and  creature  comfort  to  be  found  in  a 
snug,  warm  tent,  a  good  supper  of  your  own 
making,  a  pipeful  of  tobacco  and  a  good  pal 
to  listen  sympathetically  as  you  relate  the  im- 
portant incidents  of  the  day?  For  most  men 
of  the  old  days  that  was  just  as  near  He®Ten 
as  a  mortal  could  get  this  side  of  the  pearly 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  121 

gates.  And  if  one  went  so  far  as  to  take  a 
swallow  from  a  little  brown  bottle  in  those 
pre- Volstead  days,  it  was  just  to  propitiate 
the  inner  man.  And  if,  perchance,  before 
turning  in  for  the  night,  he  took  still  another 
"nip,"  that  was  merely  a  libation  to  the  titu- 
lar Gods  of  the  wild  to  be  generous  with  their 
gifts  on  the  morrow.  Decidedly  there  was  a 
lure  in  the  swamp  life  of  the  old  days  that 
touched  a  responsive  chord  in  the  generality 
of  mankind.  Lawyers,  doctors,  merchants, 
listened  to  the  call  of  this  great,  out  door  play 
ground  of  Beaver  Lake  and  responded  in  num- 
bers. There  were  times  when  justice  lan- 
guished in  Kankakee  for  weeks  at  a  time  and 
patiently  awaited  the  return  of  her  chief  rep- 
resentatives of  the  bar,  T.  P.  Bonfield,  C.  A. 
Lake,  Harrison  Loring,  Stephen  R.  Moore, 
William  Potter,  J.  W.  Paddock,  and  Judge 
Bartlett.  Then  there  was  "Uncle  Pleas"  Dur- 
ham and  Hugh  Lancaster  who  chaperoned  re- 
gularly a  party  of  hunters  who  had  grown 
old  in  the  service  but  who,  nevertheless,  got 
a  "kick"  out  of  camp  life  and  experienced  a 
renewal  of  youth  by  the  mere  recital  of  old- 
time  memories  and  a  whiff  of  the  game-laden 
southwest  winds.  The  ammunition  of  this 
party   was   contained    chiefly   in   suspicious 


122  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

brown  jugs.  None  of  them  could  sight  a  gun 
successfully,  such  were  the  infirmities  of  age, 
but  they  could  appraise  the  spots  of  a  deck  of 
cards  by  candle  light,  and  he  who  can  do  this 
is  not  hopelessly  old.  The  limit  was  twenty- 
five  cents.  The  shade  who  remembers  when 
everybody  else  forgets,  intimates  that  they 
never  sought  "the  hay"  until  the  "Wee,  sma' 
hours."  Now  and  then  after  they  had  turned 
in,  the  silence  would  be  broken  by  a  dry,  rack- 
ing, raucous  cough,  such  a  cough  as  would 
make  Sir  Harry  Lauder  feel  as  though  his  ed- 
ucation in  the  matter  of  simulating  a  cough 
had  been  neglected.  This  was  later  followed 
by  the  explosive  "wham"  of  the  cork  as  it 
was  pulled  from  the  neck  of  the  ammunition 
jug,  the  liquid  ripple  of  spirits,  the  deep  drawn 
sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  then — silence.  Ah, 
memories,  memories !  A  volume  could  be  writ- 
ten of  memories  and  nothing  more  of  the 
great  lake  country  in  the  days  of  its  prime. 

Men  in  those  early  days,  particularly 
those  who  buffeted  the  swamps,  were  obser- 
vant of  everything  about  them.  They  were 
weather-wise  to  a  degree  that  seemed  uncan- 
ny all  because  they  read  the  signs  and  took 
due  notice  thereof  when  nature  gave  inti- 
mation of  a  change  of  program.     The  old- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  123 

time  hunter  who  has  campaigned  in  the 
swamps  wouldn't  have  particularly  heeded  the 
prophesies  of  the  high-priced  government  of- 
ficial in  Chicago  today.  Not  he.  He  was 
used  to  casting  his  eye  skyward  in  a  broad, 
comprehensive  sweep;  he  knew  whether  the 
sun  at  its  rising  or  going  down  glowed  red  like 
a  carbuncle,  or  was  obscured  by  fogs  and  vap- 
ors ;  swiftly  he  noted  the  direction  of  the  wind, 
whether  the  smoke  rose  straight  up  or  hug- 
ged the  ground;  these  indications  are  as  in- 
fallible as  a  barometer.  Then,  too,  the  cirro- 
cumuli  of  the  meteorologist  and  the  fleecy 
clouds  of  "the  mackerel  sky"  of  the  swamp 
man  were  equally  portentous. 

In  the  marsh  there  were  times  when  a 
significant  hush  fell  upon  the  land,  follow- 
ed by  a  sudden  puff  of  wind  out  of  the  south- 
west that  bent  the  heads  of  the  wild-rice 
sharply  over  and  ruffled  the  water  of  the  open 
spaces  and  then  died  away  as  suddenly  as  it 
came.  If  it  were  in  the  month  of  March,  even 
though  the  sun  were  shining,  the  hunter  wise 
to  these  out  of  door  conditions  knew  there 
was  something  on  the  way,  and  acted  accord- 
ingly. In  an  incredibly  short  time  there  would 
be  wisps  of  thin,  fleecy  clouds  mounting  high- 
er and  higher,  a  freshening  of  the  wind  which 


124  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

in  an  hour's  time,  became  a  gale  bearing  an 
avalanche  of  snow  or  rain  or  sleet.  Our 
friends  of  the  wild  always  found  a  warning  in 
the  croak  of  the  crow  and  the  scream  of  the 
blue-jay.  Even  the  ponderous,  reverberating 
notes  of  the  swamp  bull-frog  were  pregnant 
with  meaning  for  the  initiated.  They  seemed 
to  say,  "Better  go  'round!  Better  go  'round! 
Better  go  'round." 

The  "Black  Marsh,"  to  the  north-east  of 
the  lake  proper  was  a  favorite  breeding 
ground.  Here,  rising  above  the  shallow  waters 
of  the  marsh  by  the  hundreds,  so  thick  that 
they  suggested  hay-cocks  in  a  meadow,  were 
the  unique  habitations  of  the  musk-rats.  Other 
contiguous  swamps  were  similarly  inhabited. 
Here,  also,  the  geese  in  the  spring,  with  an 
eye  to  utility  and  convenience,  made  use  of 
the  materials  already  provided  by  the  indus- 
trious rats,  and  made  their  nests  on  the  roof 
of  his  dwelling  without  so  much  as  intimat- 
ing "By  your  leave."  A  strange  and  interest- 
ing combination  it  was — rats  within  and 
geese  without — sometimes  as  many  as  five  or 
six  of  them  in  close  proximity  to  one  another, 
on  the  same  curious  mound  of  dried  weeds  and 
rushes.     These  unbidden  guests  of  the  wild 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  125 

when  disturbed  by  the  hunter  or  the  near  ap- 
proach of  his  dog,  would  curve  their  long 
necks  downward  and  with  heads  close  to  the 
water,  slide  easily  and  gracefully  in,  after 
which  they  voiced  a  noisy  protest  at  being 
disturbed. 

The  mallards,  more  particular  as  to  sit- 
uation and  more  skillful  in  the  matter  of 
building  their  nests,  built  among  the  rushes 
and  cat-tails  and  the  rice,  of  which  they  made 
use  in  anchoring  their  nests  in  a  peculiar  way. 
A  mallard's  nest  was  made  large  at  the  bot- 
tom, tapering  to  a  considerable  height  where 
the  nest  was  located.  The  foundation  mater- 
ials were  woven  loosely  about  several  upstand- 
ing rushes  or  cat-tails,  so  that  the  nest  could 
rise  or  lower  with  the  flood  waters  of  the 
slough.  Ordinarily  one  would  think  that  it 
could  not  possibly  matter  whether  a  nest  rose 
or  fell  with  the  tide  or  not.  But  the  logic  of 
the  wild,  that  unerring  instinct  which  guides 
certain  of  the  water-fowl,  disproves  all  this. 
Supposing  the  nest  were  firmly  anchored  and 
the  waters  of  the  slough  receded  so  that  the 
nest  was  suspended  six  inches  above  the  sur- 
face of  the  water.  The  young  ducklings  might 
fall  out  into  the  water  all  right,  but  how 
would  they  ever  get  back  home  and  under 


126  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

mother's  protecting  wing?  With  the  nest 
thus  anchored,  but  able  to  rise  and  lower  with 
the  waters,  it  rode  the  waves  safely  when  the 
surface  was  lashed  by  heavy  winds.  Other- 
wise the  nest  would  have  been  inundated. 
The  sloping  sides  served  an  important  end  in 
this  scheme  of  the  wilderness  household.  By 
this  means  the  young  ducks  were  enabled  to 
reach  the  water  easily,  and  just  as  easily  come 
from  the  water  back  into  the  nest. 

During  July  and  August  the  wild  life  of 
the  marsh  was  most  interesting  to  observe. 
Multitudes  of  musk-rats,  as  if  conscious  that 
their  furl  coats  were  of  little  value  to  the  hun- 
ter at  that  time  of  the  year,  disported  in  num- 
bers about  the  sedgy  margins  of  the  swamp. 
Myriads  of  young  mallards,  half  grown,  for- 
aged here  and  there  and  even  contested  with 
the  rats  for  certain  choice  tid-bits  of  marsh 
f  loatsam  picked  up  in  their  wanderings.  The 
stringy,  bulbous  root  of  the  swamp  artichoke 
was  a  morsel  much  sought  by  rats  and  ducks 
alike,  and  many  a  tug-of-war  occurred  be- 
tween these  opposing  forces — a  rat  at  one 
end  and  a  duck  at  the  other.  The  musk-rats 
were  so  numerous  that  they  would  run  five 
hundred  to  the  acre  in  the  opinion  of  the  old- 
time  hunter.  As  to  the  mallards — there  was 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  127 

absolutely  no  way  in  which  a  man  could  arrive 
at  a  reasonable  estimate  of  their  numbers. 
The  homing  phase  of  wild  life  was  interesting 
to  observe,  and  the  old-timer  recalls  how  these 
young,  half-grown  mallards,  at  nightfall, 
sought  out  the  old  nest  and  as  many  as  could 
perched  on  its  precipitous  sides,  while  the  bal- 
ance, if  the  family  were  large — say  about  a 
dozen — sat  in  the  water  with  their  feet  drawn 
up  into  the  soft  feathers  of  the  breast,  and 
with  heads  tucked  under  their  wings  dreamed 
of  polly-wogs  and  bugs. 

The  Beaver  Lake  region  not  only  attract- 
ed huge  flights  of  ducks,  geese  and  swan,  but 
here,  also,  was  the  home  primeval  of  the  pic- 
turesque sand-hill  crane.  They  frequented 
this  section  literally  by  the  thousands.  Every 
hunter  of  pioneer  days  has  some  story  to  re- 
late concerning  a  peculiar  ceremonial  observ- 
ed by  these  birds  in  the  spring  and  sometimes 
in  the  early  fall,  which  is  often  alluded  to 
as  the  "dance  of  the  cranes."  At  such  times 
numbers  of  these  birds  gathered  on  a  high 
spot  of  the  prairie  adjacent  to  the  water. 
They  formed  in  a  circle,  each  one  equi-distant 
from  his  neighbor,  and  thus  disposed  they 
went  through  a  series  of  movements  strange- 
ly akin  to  the  figures  of  a  quadrille.    Always 


128  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

there  was  a  dignity  of  movement  and  a  ser- 
iousness of  mien  and  deportment  altogether 
amusing,  interesting  and  quite  out  of  the  or- 
dinary. One  of  the  movements  most  general- 
ly recalled  by  those  who  have  witnessed  them, 
is  that  which  resembled  "leap-frog."  The  bird 
ahead  would  squat  close  to  the  ground  while 
the  one  behind  would  vault  lightly  over.  Im- 
mediately on  alighting,  this  bird  would  crouch 
down  to  the  ground  while  the  other  jumped 
over. 

Beaver  Lake  was  a  body  of  water  seven 
miles  long  and  about  five  miles  wide  and  from 
six  to  nine  feet  deep,  situated  mainly  in  Mc- 
Clellan  township,  Newton  county,  Indiana. 
Contiguous  swamps  added  vastly  to  this  area 
which  was  known  generally  as  "The  Beaver 
Lake  Country."  In  1853  the  state  of  Indiana 
undertook  to  reclaim  a  portion  of  this  swamp 
tract  by  running  a  ditch  from  the  northwest 
corner  of  the  lake  to  the  Kankakee  river,  sev- 
eral miles  away  to  the  north.  This  effort  was 
pretty  much  of  a  failure  as  it  only  caused  the 
shore-line  of  the  lake  to  recede  by  about  one 
hundred  yards.  Twenty-five  to  thirty  years 
later  Lemuel  Milk,  of  Kankakee,  the  well 
known  land  magnate,  became  interested  in  the 
project  of  draining  this  vast  tract,  and  went 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  129 

after  it  with  characteristic  energy.  The  old 
ditch  was  widened  and  deepened  and  its  car- 
rying capacity  increased.  The  limestone 
"hog-back"  above  Momence,  Illinois,  was  cut 
through  and  the  Kankakee,  with  its  flood  thus 
released,  made  short  work  of  draining  pic- 
turesque Beaver  Lake. 

While  the  success  of  this  great  reclama- 
tion project  was  being  acclaimed  by  the  public 
in  general,  tragedy  was  stalking  abroad  in  all 
the  vast  realm  where,  from  time  immemorial, 
had  dwelt  the  feathered  legions  of  the  wild. 
In  the  nesting  places  of  the  shallow  swamps 
the  geese  had  but  recently  brought  off  their 
broods,  all  unmindful  of  impending  disaster. 
There  were  tens  of  thousands  of  these  big, 
soft,  fuzzy  goslings  suddenly  bereft  of  their 
native  element — water.  Goslings  at  best  are 
poor  "land-lubbers"  but  fine  sailors  and  aero- 
nauts once  they  are  supplied  with  water  and 
wing-feathers,  but  in  this  case  they  had  neith- 
er. The  sight  was  pitiable,  says  A.  L.  Barker, 
who,  as  a  boy  witnessed  it  all.  They  walked 
and  rolled  and  dragged  themselves  painfully 
to  the  few  depressions  in  the  marsh  bottom 
where  water  still  remained  and  crowded  these 
places  to  suffocation.  For  days  the  sandy 
spaces  roundabout  the  sloughs  were  alive  with 


130  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

the  roly-poly  forms  of  these  goslings,  some 
dead,  others  dying,  while  the  remainder  toiled 
persistently  though  painfully  landward,  under 
a  burning  sun,  in  search  of  water.  The  help- 
lessness and  misery  of  these  hapless  waifs 
of  the  wild  would  have  moved  a  soul  of  ada- 
mant to  pity.  The  mother  geese  were  every- 
where encouraging  their  flocks  as  best  they 
might,  but  the  task  was  a  hopeless  one  and 
one  after  another  they  fell  by  the  wayside. 
Only  the  stronger  ones  and  such  as  were 
helped  endured  and  reached  the  life-saving 
water  in  the  door-yard  of  the  swamp  settler. 
It  was  a  disaster  so  far-reaching  in  its  effects 
upon  the  wild  life  of  the  region  that  man  was 
helpless  to  succor  them  except  in  a  very  lim- 
ited way.  Mr.  Barker  recalls  that  he  picked 
up  numbers  of  these  goslings  and  bore  them 
to  a  place  of  safety  in  his  father's  barnyard, 
and  that  the  mother  geese,  so  far  from  being 
perturbed  by  the  presence  of  man,  apparent- 
ly sensed  that  it  was  an  act  of  mercy.  As  the 
goslings  wallowed  in  the  puddles  about  the 
watering  trough  the  old  geese  would  stretch 
their  necks  and  wag  their  heads  up  and  down 
unruffled  by  the  approach  of  a  stranger, 
meanwhile  giving  voice  to  a  delightfully  soft 
and  friendly  little  "croak"  which,  in  the  Ian- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  131 

guage  of  wild  meant,  beyond  a  doubt— "Thank 
you,  mister,  thank  you  for  your  kindness." 

The  geese  were  not  the  only  ones  to  suffer. 
With  the  passing  of  the  waters  of  the  lake  the 
hosts  of  buffalo,  cat-fish  and  pickerel  con- 
tained therein  were  left  marooned  in  shallow 
pools  or  stranded  helplessly  in  the  black  muck 
of  the  lake's  bottom.  There  were  buffalo  and 
pickerel  of  enormous  size,  patriarchs  of  these 
primeval  waters,  whose  carcasses  littered  the 
bottom  of  the  lake  so  thickly  that  one  could 
step  from  one  to  another  in  any  direction,  like 
upon  so  many  stepping  stones.  For  weeks, 
after  the  release  of  the  waters,  this  spot  was 
like  a  charnel  house,  from  which  emanated 
odors  of  fish  and  game,  rotting  under  the  rays 
of  a  hot  sun,  that  smelled  to  Heaven  and  hung 
oven4  this  citadel  of  the  wilderness  like  a  pes- 
tilential blanket.  Man  had  won  in  the  conflict 
with  nature !  The  citadel  had  fallen ! 


Austin  Dexter  is  a  marsh  inhabitant  who 
has  spent  eighty-six  years  there.  He  was 
born  at  Rensselaer,  Indiana,  in  1839,  and 
shortly  after  his  people  moved  into  the  lake 
country  and  he  has  been  there  ever  since.  He 


132      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


AN  ANCIENT  "SWAMP-RAT" 
Austin  Dexter,  at  the  Right  in  the  Pic- 
ture, is,  Perhaps,  Beaver  Lake's  Oldest 
Citizen  in  Point  of  Continuous  Residence. 
He  Came  to  the  Lake  as  a  Baby  and  is 
Now  Eighty-Six  Years  Old.  He  has  Visions 
of  the  Lake  Country  Again  Returning  to  a 
State  of   Nature  in   Time. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  133 

is  what  is  known  in  the  expressive  phraseol- 
ogy of  the  lake  country  as  "a  Swamp-Rat." 
Life,  in  the  main,  has  been  uneventful  save 
that  it  is  rich  in  the  garnered  experiences  of 
the  little  realm  in  which  he  has  so  long  lived 
and  moved  and  been  a  part.  In  his  little  hut 
back  among  the  oaks  of  a  sand-ridge,  not  far 
from  the  famous  "Shafer  Ridge,"  we  found 
him  and  talked  with  him.  Here  he  lives  dur- 
ing the  summer,  pretty  much  by  himself,  and, 
in  the  winter  he  goes  down  to  Kentland  a  pen- 
sioner on  the  bounty  of  Newton  county.  His 
recollection  of  the  marsh  goes  back  into  the 
early  forties.  The  Pottawattomi  were  there 
in  that  day  and,  with  their  primitive  weapons, 
were  the  principal  hunters  for  a  time.  His 
older  brother  spent  much  time  with  them  and 
became  quite  expert  in  speaking  and  under- 
standing the  Pottawattomi  tongue.  In  that 
day,  besides  the  aquatic  life  that  filled  the 
marsh,  there  were  countless  deer  and  wolves 
that  ranged  the  adjacent  prairie  and  oak- 
scrub  of  the  sand-ridges.  He  recalls  that  dur- 
ing the  fifties  and  the  sixties  hunters  made  a 
business  of  hunting  deer  for  the  market.  He 
has  beheld  wagon  loads  of  deer  carcasses  pil- 
ed high  and  tied  with  ropes,  ready  for  trans- 
port to  market  at  Rensselaer  or  Morocco,  In- 


134  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

diana,  or  across  the  line  into  Illinois  to  Mo- 
mence. 

There  is  a  tradition  associated  with  the 
year  he  was  born,  1839,  of  which  he  likes  to 
tell.  The  winter  was  very  severe  and  many 
deer  took  refuge  on  Big  Bogus  Island.  During 
the  protracted  season  of  cold  the  waters  of 
the  lake  were  frozen  over  and  then  the  citi- 
zens of  the  region  inaugurated  a  big  drive. 
Nearly  everybody  in  the  neighborhood  par- 
ticipated in  the  affair,  men,  boys  and  a  wo- 
man or  two,  more  hardy  and  venturesome 
than  the  rest,  joined  in  the  sport.  This  wild- 
erness posse  was  armed  with  rifles,  pitch- 
forks, corn-knives — anything  that  might  serve 
as  a  weapon.  The  grass  of  the  island  was 
fired  and  the  deer,  driven  before  the  wall  of 
fire,  emerged  in  numbers  upon  the  glare  ice 
of  the  lake.  Then  the  slaughter  ensued  for 
the  deer,  unable  to  stand  on  the  slippery  sur- 
face of  the  lake,  sprawled  in  every  direction 
in  their  mad  efforts  to  escape  and  became 
easy  victims.  It  is  said  that  the  bag  of  game 
in  that  drive  amounted  to  seventy  head  of 
deer,  a  fox  or  two  and  six  or  seven  wolves. 
It  was  a  big  event  in  the  lake's  history. 

Naturally  there  are  memories  etched  on 
the  very  soul  of  this  ancient  swamp  recluse 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  135 


of  days  when  the  wild  life  of  the  upper  air 
concentrated  here.  Again,  a  man  would  have 
profited  if  he  had  known  something  of  the 
prodigal  abundance  of  these  wilderness  days, 
for  Austin  Dexter,  though  friendly  and  will- 
ing, was  disposed  to  listen  rather  than  talk, 
and  this  reticence  was  due  in  a  large  measure 
to  the  fact  that  tales  of  the  Lake's  early  days 
now  seem  extravagant,  overdrawn,  improb- 
able. By  degrees,  however,  he  talked — talk- 
ed in  the  halting  monosyllable  of  the  marsh- 
man— of  nights  in  the  early  spring  when  the 
feathered  hosts  of  the  air  came  tumbling  in. 
Many  and  many  is  the  night  he  says,  that  he 
has  lain  awake  in  his  shack,  unable  to  sleep 
from  the  incessant  "cac,  cac,  cac,"  of  the  red- 
heads and  mallards  mingled  with  the  wild, 
strident  "honk"  of  geese,  belated  travelers  of 
the  night  who  sought  a  resting  spot  in  this 
wilderness  hostelry. 

As  these  hosts  settled  down  they  disturb- 
ed still  other  hosts  so  that  the  night  was  a 
perfect  bedlam  of  distracting  cries,  so  much 
so  that  sleep  was  entirely  out  of  the  question. 
There  were  times  when  the  swamp's  feather- 
ed denizens,  from  some  unknown  source  and 
in  some  unaccountable  way,  were  warned  of 
some  untoward  thing  and  rose  en  masse.  It 


136  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


was  a  sight  awe-inspiring,  spectacular,  sub- 
lime, and  the  noise  of  untold  thousands  of 
wings  beating  the  air  in  unison  as  they  arose 
from  the  water  reverberated  in  the  timber- 
fringed  confines  of  the  lake  like  heavy  thun- 
der. Such  old-time  hunters  of  the  swamps  as 
Victor  Brassard,  Wm.  A.  Hunter  and  Tom 
Magruder,  say  that  these  sudden,  unexplain- 
able  upheavals  of  game  taking  wing  at  the 
same  instant,  registered  on  the  sensibilities 
like  the  reverberations  of  a  mild  explosion.  A 
fellow's  nerves  would  farly  tingle  for  a  time 
as  from  the  effects  of  a  mighty  electric  shock. 
As  he  spoke  of  these  happenings  of  the 
past  his  eye  ranged  slowly  the  vast  expanse 
of  country  to  the  south  where,  traced  in  the 
swamp  bottoms,  were  staring  highways  of 
white,  farms  fenced  in  and  fields  of  corn 
white  from  the  early  autumn  frosts,  where 
formerly  the  boats  of  the  hunters  plied.  To 
the  southeast  of  "Big  Bogus"  laid  the  deep 
sink  of  old  Beaver  Lake.  His  eye  rested  here 
while  he  pointed  out  the  huge  dredge-ditch, 
its  precipitous  sides  covered  for  the  most  part 
with  scrub-oak,  sumach  and  briers,  through 
which  shone  dully,  patches  of  dead,  gray 
quicksand.  It  was  then  the  tragedy  of  the 
swamp  stood  revealed.   Through  this  ditch  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  137 

heart's  blood  of  old  Beaver  Lake  had  drained 
to  the  last  drop.  "They  murdered  this  land 
while  they  were  at  it,"  said  Austin  Dexter  sad- 
ly, "and  made  a  good  job  of  it !"  Its  primitive 
voices  are  stilled,  unless  we  except  the  lugu- 
brious voice  of  the  crow  and  the  chattering 
of  the  black-bird  hosts.  Man  has  deliberately 
sacrificed  the  plenty  that  here  fell  regularly 
from  the  hand  of  the  Almighty  and,  in  return, 
drew  a  burden  of  taxes. 


138      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


FAMOUS  BOGUS  ISLAND 

Beaver  Lake  and  Bogus  Island  are  but 
memories  in  this  day.  It  is  difficult  for  the 
casual  visitor  to  realize  that  this  was  a  swamp 
region,  thousands  of  acres  in  extent,  whose 
deep  retreats  were  frequented  by  counterfeit- 
ers, horse  thieves,  murderers  and  criminals 
of  lesser  degree.  So  changed  is  the  land  that 
only  the  campaigner  of  its  old  days  may  know 
with  something  of  certainty  "just  where  he 
is  at,"  in  this  lifeless,  wide  open  land  of  today. 

The  term  lifeless  is  meant  only  in  a  re- 
lative sense,  as  indicating  the  entire  absence 
of  the  hosts  of  wild  fowl  that  once  made  this 
wilderness  retreat  vocal  with  their  cries  as 
they  passed  in  and  out.  The  chatter  of  the 
blackbird  hosts  is  but  the  feeble  echo  of  wild- 
erness life  of  the  long  ago.  The  south-west 
winds  are  empty  today  save  where  they  pick 
up  the  dry  sands  of  the  old  lake  bed  and  weave 
them  in  spirals  and  sift  them  in  soft,  gray 
diaphanous  clouds  until,  in  the  distance,  they 
seem  like  spirit-flights  of  the  ancient  hosts 
of  the  wild  haunting  this  spot  of  many  mem- 
ories. 

Within  forty  years  section  lines  have 
been  run,  fences  built  and  a  perfect  checker- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  139 

board  of  stone  roads  built  in  the  very  heart 
of  this  swamp  region.  Its  famous  secret 
places  are  secret  no  longer,  but  have  been 
opened  to  the  public  in  the  most  ruthless  and 
unfeeling  manner  and  then  forgotten,  appar- 
ently, save  by  the  "swamp-rat,"  to  whom  the 
whole  thing  is  a  nightmare — nay,  more — a 
tragedy.  "Little  Bogus"  and  "Big  Bogus" 
Islands,  famous  as  the  rendezvous  of  the  ear- 
ly-day banditti,  loom  upon  the  landscape  amid 
quiet  pastoral  scenes  that  afford  little  or  no 
background  for  the  fierce  tales  of  the  border 
credited  to  them.  The  island's  most  formid- 
able protecting  barrier  today  is  the  unroman- 
tic  but  practical  "barbed-wire"  fence. 

This  island,  which  is  several  acres  in  ex- 
tent and  wooded,  was  occupied  as  early  as 
1836  by  counterfeiters,  who  made  quantities 
of  spurious  coin  which  they  circulated  on  the 
outside  by  means  of  confederates  and  help- 
ers. The  Illinois  country  was  alive  with  horse 
thieves  and  counterfeiters.  They  were  even 
more  numerous  than  the  "hold-up"  men  of 
today.  There  is  a  tradition  that  three  coun- 
terfeiters were  arrested  on  Little  Bogus  in 
1837.  They  were  taken  before  Justice  Wes- 
ley Spitler,  tried  and  bound  over  to  the  cir- 


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AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  141 


cuit  court.    They  forfeited  their  bonds  and 
the  case  never  came  to  trial. 

A  horse  stolen  from  the  neighborhood  of 
Milford,  Illinois  in  1857  was  followed  by~~a 
posse  of  twelve  or  fifteen  men  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Bogus  Island.  The  thief,  hard  press- 
ed, left  the  horse  in  the  timber  and  made  an 
unsuccessful  attempt  to  escape.  He  was  dis- 
covered crossing  the  big  ditch  a  little  way 
north  of  the  bridge  that  crosses  the  ditch 
near  the  Jennie  M.  Conrad  home,  and,  as  he 
emerged  on  the  other  side,  the  bullets  of  the 
pursuing  party  dropped  him  in  his  tracks. 
Apparently  the  formality  of  an  inquest  was 
dispensed  with.  He  was  a  known  horse  thief, 
and  that  was  enough.  They  did  drag  the  body 
to  the  top  of  the  sightly  sand-hill  and  buried 
it  there.  This  eminence  is  known  today  as 
"Horse  Thief  Hill."  About  this  time,  too, 
"Old  Shafer,"  a  swamp  character  with  a  most 
sinister  record,  variously  known  as  "Mike" 
or  "William,"  was  arrested.  He  was  after- 
wards tried  for  harboring  thieves  and  stolen 
property,  and  was  sentenced  to  three  years 
in  the  penitentiary. 

Early  day  citizens  of  Momence  were 
obliged   to  wage   constant   and  unrelenting 


142  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

warfare  on  these  undesirables,  and  to  that 
end  the  services  of  Col.  Phil  Worcester, 
"Uncle  Sid"  Vail  and  Walter  B.  Hess  were  en- 
listed on  behalf  of  the  community  during  a 
period  of  years  and  with  something  of  suc- 
cess. In  1839,  at  a  point  on  "Big  Bogus"  Is- 
land, on  its  southeastern  side  where  the  sandy 
promontory  rises  from  the  bed  of  the  old  lake, 
a  point  still  distinguished  by  a  huge  oak  tree, 
there  Col.  Worcester  and  his  party  surprised 
a  band  of  five  counterfeiters  and  made  them 
captives.  Tradition,  which  is  vague  and 
shadowy,  says  that  the  Worcester  party  con- 
sisted of  himself,  Sid  Vail  and  "Uncle  Billy" 
Nichols,  with  James  Graham  for  a  guide. 
They  came  across  in  a  boat  from  Hunter's 
Point,  to  the  south-west  of  the  island,  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night,  guided  only  by  a  beacon 
light  which  shone  from  high  up  in  the  oak 
tree.  The  very  audacity  of  the  scheme  made 
it  successful.  The  counterfeiters  were  sure 
they  were  welcoming  some  of  their  own  par- 
ty instead  of  officers  of  the  law. 

Walter  B.  Hess,  almost  from  the  first 
day  he  became  a  resident  of  the  border  settle- 
ment of  Momence,  identified  himself  prom- 
inently with  this  movement  to  preserve  law 
and  order.   He  had  a  most  formidable  antag- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  143 

onist  in  the  wiley  Shafer  whom  he  at  last 
landed  back  of  the  bars  for  a  three-year  term. 
But  Shafer  had  a  long  memory,  he  was  cun- 
ning and  revengeful,  and  in  the  end  Mr.  Hess 
lost  many  and  many  a  good  horse  and,  appar- 
ently, was  helpless  to  avert  it.  Then,  there 
were  the  brothers,  Shep  and  Wright  Latin 
who  had  the  run  of  the  town  and  were  con- 
cerned in  many  a  shady  transaction.  Mr.  Hess 
never  charged  Shep  Latin  with  actual  stealing, 
but  his  clever  brain  hatched  many  a  scheme 
which  worked  out  to  the  great  detriment  of 
people  of  the  community  with  good,  likely 
horses.  Shep  Latin  was  really  a  likable  fellow ; 
not  vindictive  like  "Old  Shafer."  Mr.  Hess 
says  that  Wright  Latin  one  day  went  by  his 
house  with  five  horses,  which  afterwards 
proved  to  have  been  stolen.  A  day  or  so  lat- 
er several  men  came  by  hunting  for  them  and 
Mr.  Hess  gave  the  fellows  such  directions  as 
he  was  able.  A  day  or  so  later  the  men  re- 
turned bringing  four  horses  with  them.  They 
said  they  could  not  find  the  fifth  horse  but 
found  a  man  in  charge  of  the  four.  They  add- 
ed significantly  that  his  horse  stealing  days 
were  over.  The  description  they  gave  of  the 
man  tallied  exactly  with  that  of  Wright  Latin, 
and  he  was  never  heard  from  later.    Many 


144 


TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


■.■■,";:.-' 


"BIG  BOGUS  ISLAND" 

Since  the  Draining  of  the  Waters  of 
Beaver  Lake,  "Big  Bogus"  Looms  on  its 
Southeastern  Side  like  a  Huge  Promontory 
of  Sand.  The  Figure  to  the  Right  in  the 
Picture  is  Standing  on  the  Spot  Where  a 
Gang  of  Early-Day  Counterfeiters  Had 
Their  "Dugout."  At  This  Point  Five  of  a 
Gang  Were  Captured  by  Col.  Worcester  and 
a  Band  of  Momence  Men. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  145 

years  later,  while  some  men  were  digging  a 
ditch  near  Blue  Grass,  in  Indiana,  they  were 
very  much  frightened  on  exhuming  a  skele- 
ton. It  was,  in  all  probability,  the  remains  of 
Wright  Latin. 

The  story  is  told  how  one  day,  while  Shep 
Latin  was  intoxicated,  he  said  to  Mr.  Hess: 

"Hess  you're  a  fool  to  work  as  you  do. 
I  can  put  you  in  the  way  of  making  an  easier 
living — just  look  at  this."  Whereupon  he  pull- 
ed out  of  several  pockets  handfuls  of  bills, 
with  the  remark:  "My  clothes  are  just  lined 
with  money." 

Mr.  Hess  refused  his  confidences  on  this 
and  other  occasions.  Summing  up  his  life 
work  in  the  matter  of  searching  out  crimin- 
als, however,  he  was  quite  positive  that,  if 
he  were  a  young  man  again  going  into  a  bor- 
der country  he  would  not  take  the  active  part 
he  did  in  trying  to  break  up  lawlessness.  Once 
he  pursued  a  horse  thief  for  three  weeks  and 
in  the  chase  ruined  a  better  horse  than  the 
one  that  had  been  stolen. 

"Little  Bogus,"  which  was  the  favorite 
haunt  of  counterfeiters  and  thieves,  was 
reached  from  the  west  and  northwest  by 
lonely  trails,  obscure  and  winding.  It  was 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  deep  water  which 


146  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

made  surprise  attack  by  officers  of  the  law 
out  of  the  question.  By  many  of  the  marsh 
residents  it  was  suspected  that  there  was  an 
easier  way  into  it  than  by  swimming  one's 
horse  through  the  deep  waters  surrounding 
it,  and,  at  the  time  the  waters  of  Beaver  Lake 
were  drained,  there  was  brought  to  light  for 
the  first  time  a  peculiar  configuration  of  the 
lake  bottom.  From  the  island's  highest  point 
today  the  observer  beholds,  stretching  away 
to  the  north-west,  the  ziz-zag  lines  of  a  nar- 
ow  "hog-back"  of  sand  which,  lying  close  to 
the  surface  of  the  lake  yet  obscured  by  the 
water,  afforded  easy  means  of  ingress  and 
egress  to  men  on  horseback  familiar  with  the 
peculiar  lay  of  the  land.  From  the  point  where 
the  "hog-back"  stopped  abruptly,  there  was 
an  interval  of  deep  water  between  it  and  the 
adjacent  sand-ridge  to  the  west  of  some  three 
or  four  hundred  feet.  Evidences  of  an  early 
day  engineering  feat  were  unearthed  at  this 
point  years  ago  at  the  time  when  one  of  the 
lateral  ditches  was  dredged  through.  The 
dredge  discovered  with  its  steel  nose  a  road- 
way constructed  of  logs  six  to  eight  inches  in 
diameter,  placed  side  by  side  corduroy  fash- 
ion. This  submerged  corduroy  roadway  was 
laid  in  a  shallow  spot  in  the  lagoon,  and  reach- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  147 

ed  from  the  sand-ridge  on  the  west  as  far  as 
the  "hog-back/'  several  hundred  feet  away 
to  the  south-east.  Long  after  the  waters  of 
the  lake  had  been  drained  away,  this  connect- 
ing bit  of  road,  deeply  embedded  in  the  swamp 
muck,  was  clearly  visible.  One  may  behold  it 
all  today  clearly  revealed  in  the  sunshine,  the 
winding  highway  of  the  early-day  banditti 
and  the  dip  to  the  sand-ridge  where  the  cor- 
duroy road  was  laid.  It  is  an  innocent  look- 
ing bit  of  sandy  surface  today  even  though  it 
once  formed  an  important  link  for  those  who 
sought  the  island  stronghold. 

"Bogus  Island"  in  its  primitive  days,  was 
as  snug  and  secure  a  place  as  was  ever  hit  up- 
on by  the  fugitive  from  justice,  or  he  whose 
questionable  practices  thrive  best  in  secret. 
Covered  by  a  thick  growth  of  oak  and  brush, 
its  shores  fringed  about  by  a  dense  growth 
of  cat-tails  and  wild  rice,  surrounded  by  deep 
water,  uncharted  save  for  the  secret  sub- 
merged trail  to  the  north-west,  what  more  se- 
cure haven  could  have  been  desired?  Mid- 
way of  the  island,  at  the  head  of  a  small  ra- 
vine which  dips  sharply  to  the  east,  is  today 
a  hol£  in  the  ground  which  popular  tradition 
fixes  as  the  spot  where  the  counterfeiters  had 
their  cabin  of  logs  and  carried  on  their  oper- 


g  cj  » 

«*£ 

PQ  .  m 
>»  I 

Ph    a)  a)  -0 

g  W  OJMTJ 
(-1    gJ3   ^  fi 


W 

O 


^J 


PL,  ^  o  ©£ 

•^    s  ® 


i     U     CS 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  149 

ations.  The  sandy  area  about  this  spot  has 
yielded,  in  the  course  of  the  years,  many  me- 
mentoes in  the  way  of  spurious  coins  and 
counterfeiter's  paraphernalia.  Here,  and  at 
"Big  Bogus,"  three  miles  to  the  south-east, 
as  the  crow  flies,  was  the  rallying  point  for 
these  underworld  characters  of  border  days 
who,  for  years  continued  to  be  a  thorn  in  the 
side  of  the  border  settlement  at  Momence. 
They  were  clever  men,  desperate  men,  who,  in 
the  pinch,  held  human  life  cheaply,  so  that  in 
the  category  of  crimes  directly  chargeable  to 
them,  there  sometimes  occurred  the  charge  of 
murder.  There  are  tales  still  told  which  lack 
much  of  detail  and  color,  and  legends  vague 
and  various  touching  upon  the  lives  and  do- 
ings of  the  banditti  of  the  swamps,  bandied 
about  among  the  older  folk  of  the  region.  But, 
for  the  most  part  time  has  wiped  the  memory 
clean  of  all  definite  recollection  of  these  stir- 
ring events,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
the  chief  bandit  himself — "Old  Shafer,"  who 
forms  the  subject  of  a  special  story  to  follow. 
Dr.  John  F.  Shronts,  the  well  known  pion- 
eer doctor  of  Momence,  as  a  young  man  just 
out  of  college,  sought  a  location  for  the  prac- 
tice of  his  profession  near  to  the  cross-roads 
where  stands  the  hamlet  of  Lake  Village,  In- 


150      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

diana.  Here,  in  the  heart  of  the  Beaver  Lake 
country,  he  occupied  a  primitive  log  cabin  and 
hung  out  his  shingle  as  M.  D.  as  early  as  1868 
or  1869.  Here,  for  years,  he  practiced,  later 
removing  to  Momence,  Illinois.  A  queer  place, 
you  may  think,  for  a  young  doctor  to  light 
upon,  a  place  without  prospect  or  future, 
whose  inhabitants,  in  the  main,  were  of  the 
criminal  stripe  and  desperate.  But  the  facts 
are  these  men  were  just  as  susceptible  to  chills 
and  fever  and  "swamp  ague"  as  the  "squat- 
ter" trapper  and  woodsman,  of  whom,  to  use 
the  vernacular  of  the  marsh  of  that  day,  "thar 
wuz  a  considerable  sprinkling."  There  was  a 
broken  arm  and  broken  leg,  now  and  then,  to 
be  adjusted  and  at  such  times  when  the  boys 
of  questionable  character  and  calling  cele- 
brated a  successful  "haul"  on  the  outside  by 
raising  high-jinks  in  their  island  stronghold 
for  days  at  a  time — when  liquor  flowed  free- 
ly and  enthusiasm  ran  high — not  infrequent- 
ly the  lone  doctor  was  sought  by  them  to  treat 
a  gun-shot  wound  or  repair  a  damage  caused 
by  fists.  Boys  will  be  boys,  and  the  best  of 
friends  fall  out  now  and  then ! 

Dr.  Shronts  used  to  recall  that,  on  his 
first  visit  to  the  secret  places  of  the  island 
banditti,  he  was  obliged  to  submit  to  being 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  151 

blind-folded  on  going  in  and  coming  out  of 
the  place.  In  the  course  of  the  years,  how- 
ever, this  precaution  was  dispensed  with.  For 
years  he  knew  of  the  secret  "hog-back  high- 
way" but  was  unable  to  locate  it  by  his  own 
knowledge  unaided.  But  the  Doctor  concern- 
ed himself  only  in  his  profession  and  was  care- 
ful not  to  show  too  great  an  interest  in  the 
past  life  and  doings  of  his  patients.  Withal, 
he  was  discreet,  cautious,  careful  not  to  let 
drop  the  least  hint  of  gossip  or  criticism  re- 
lating to  the  affairs  of  this  underworld  clien- 
tele so  that  in  the  end  he  held  their  confidence 
as  no  other  man  of  the  lake  region  ever  did. 
Long  after  he  had  removed  to  Momence,  Dr. 
Shronts  was  called  by  the  swamp  folk  gener- 
ally, in  time  of  need,  and  by  members  of  the 
island  banditti  particularly  whenever  the  em- 
ergency arose.  By  day  and  by  night  he  trav- 
eled the  precarious  footing  of  "Lyon's  Lane," 
to  still  more  precarious  and  uncertain  trails 
which  wound  about  through  thicket  and  scrub 
and  miniature  sand-dunes,  and  which  led,  fin- 
ally to  the  humble  cabin  of  the  trapper  and 
hunter  or  the  more  isolated  abodes  of  the 
"Bogus  Island"  bandits.  It  was  a  faithful 
service  he  rendered  these  habitants  of  the 
Lake  region  during  all  the  days  he  lived — sum- 


152  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

mer  or  winter  in  fair  weather  and  foul,  day 
or  night. 

The  incident  is  recalled  of  one  occasion 
when  Dr.  Shronts  was  out  of  town,  a  messen- 
ger from  Bogus  Island  sought  him  on  behalf 
of  one  of  their  number  who  had  been  kicked 
by  a  horse.  In  the  absence  of  Dr.  Shronts  his 
colleague,  Dr.  H.  M.  Keyser,  was  appealed  to. 
The  Doctor  was  reluctant  at  first  to  under- 
take the  trip  for  the  reputation  of  the  pros- 
pective patient,  a  habitue  of  "Little  Bogus," 
was  not  altogether  reassuring.  In  his  pro- 
fessional experience  he  had  had  but  little  to 
do  with  them.  The  messenger  offered  him  a 
double  fee,  but  the  Doctor  soon  made  it  clear 
that  his  unwillingness,  in  this  case,  was  not  so 
much  a  matter  of  the  fee  as  it  was  a  matter 
of  safety  for  himself  and  his  horse.  "Suppos- 
ing," said  the  Doctor,  "that  someone  of  your 
number  fancied  my  horse  and  helped  himself 
to  it?  What  a  predicament  I  would  be  in! 
What  assurance  have  I  that  this  will  not  hap- 
pen?" The  messenger  smiled  grimly  and  re- 
plied :  "When  men  of  our  stripe  give  a  promise 
they  live  up  to  it.  Should  your  horse  be  stolen, 
I  promise  that  you  will  be  supplied  with  a  bet- 
ter one !  I  will  take  you  in  and  bring  you  back, 
and  pay  you  well  besides."  And,  thus  assured, 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  153 

Dr.  Keyser  made  the  trip  to  Bogus  Island. 
And  these  men  of  shady  reputation  and  des- 
perate character  treated  him  royally. 

The  passing  of  Dr.  John  F.  Shronts  in 
many  respects  was  marked  like  the  closing 
of  an  epoch — like  the  last  chapter  in  a  tale  of 
stirring  events  of  red-blood  days  brought  to 
a  point  where  the  frontier  "faded  out"  and 
present  day  civilization  began.  What  wealth 
of  stirring  reminiscence  and  thrilling  incident 
of  the  old,  lawless  days  of  the  lake  country 
passed  beyond  mortal  ken  with  the  passing 
of  the  old  Doctor,  we  can  only  surmise.  We 
do  know  that  it  was  considerable  and  that  its 
loss  to  the  generation  of  today  is  irreparable. 


154  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


"OLD  SHAFER"  OF  THE  KANKAKEE 
MARSH 

Verily,  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is 
hard ;  and  to  him  that  showeth  not  mercy,  in 
the  end  mercy  shall  be  denied.  To  make  use 
of  still  another  truism  evolved  from  the  sum 
of  human  experiences  throughout  the  ages, 
"He  who  lives  by  the  sword  shall  perish  by 
the  sword."  "Old  Shafer,"  of  the  black  Marsh, 
as  the  country  contiguous  to  famous  "Bogus 
Island"  over  the  line  in  Indiana,  was  known 
in  the  early  days,  was  a  most  sinister  and 
forbidding  character.  He  was  an  outlaw 
steeped  in  crime,  who  ruled  the  isolated  swamp 
region  of  the  Kankakee  Marshes  with  an 
iron  hand.  Where  the  law  of  organized  so- 
ciety had  not  permeated  in  that  early  day  he 
was  a  law  unto  himself,  and  many  a  thief, 
counterfeiter  and  assassin  found  asylum  there 
when  pressed  too  hard  by  the  civil  authori- 
ties. "Old  Shafer,"  as  he  was  known  far  and 
wide,  was  not  old  in  years.  He  was  old  in 
crime  hence  the  title,  "Old  Shafer."  Appar- 
ently there  was  no  crime  in  the  criminal  cal- 
endar of  that  day,  from  petty  larceny  to  mur- 
der, of  which    "Old  Shaf."   was  not    guilty. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  155 

Moreover,  he  sometimes  boasted  of  it,  shock- 
ing as  the  statement  may  seem. 

Where  Mike  Shafer  came  from  no  one 
knows.  That  part  of  his  life  is  a  sealed  book. 
He  operated  from  famous  "Shafer  Ridge,"  in 
the  Beaver  Lake  country  during  the  fifties 
and  up  until  his  death  in  1869.  By  many  it  is 
said  that  he  began  his  operations  there  as 
far  back  as  1844.  The  gossip  of  that  early  day 
in  the  swamps  credited  him  with  being  a  man 
of  unusual  attainments  in  the  matter  of  edu- 
cation. He  is  said  to  have  been  a  graduate  of 
one  of  the  great  eastern  colleges.  That  Mike 
Shafer  was  not  his  real  name  but  an  assumed 
one,  there  can  be  little  doubt.  Opinion  of  the 
countryside,  however,  is  a  unit  in  ascribing  to 
him  the  doubtful  honor  of  being  one  of  the 
most  formidable  outlaws  that  ever  operated  in 
the  Mississippi  valley  in  a  day  when  the  fron- 
tier gave  asylum  to  the  worst  of  them.  He 
made  his  word  the  law  in  the  little  domain  in 
which  he  operated  and  he  enforced  that  law 
in  the  most  vigorous  and  summary  manner. 
That  he  was  for  so  long  a  thorn  in  the  side 
of  the  little  frontier  settlement  of  Momence, 
that  he  so  long  eluded  successfully  the  clutch- 
es of  the  law,  is  a  tribute  at  once  to  his  nerve, 


156      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

cunning  and  consumate  skill  by  which  he  dir- 
ected the  underworld  forces  under  his  com- 
mand. 

Mrs.  Nutt  and  Mrs.  Alzada  Hopper,  now 
residents  of  Momence,  were  the  daughters  of 
Hugh  Williamson.  Williamson  was  a  hunter 
who,  in  1863,  left  Kankakee  City  and  took  up 
his  abode  in  the  Kankakee  marshes  with  his 
family.  In  that  early  day  the  "Beaver  Lake" 
region,  as  it  was  known,  was  a  hunter's  par- 
adise with  its  thousands  of  acres  of  swampy 
stretches  studded  with  musk-rat  houses,  and 
flanked  by  wild-rice  and  towering  cat-tails 
and  bulrushes.  Here  and  there  an  island  ap- 
peared and  these  were  heavily  timbered  with 
oak  and  tangled,  almost  impenetrable  scrub- 
oak.  As  a  breeding  ground  and  natural  re- 
treat for  wild  game  this  ancient  habitat  has 
seldom  been  equalled  and  never  surpassed 
anywhere  in  the  Mississippi  basin. 

In  the  days  of  the  early  sixties  when  Wil- 
liamson took  up  his  abode  there,  the  wild  deer 
were  still  very  plentiful  and  numbers  of  them 
fell  before  his  rifle.  There  were  times  when 
he  would  load  the  wide  pole-rack  of  his  wag- 
on with  the  carcasses  of  deer,  piling  them 
high,  one  upon  the  other  like  cord-wood,  and 
take  them  to  Momence,  where  he  disposed  of 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  157 

them  to  the  butcher  shops,  stores,  or  anyone 
wanting  them.  At  other  times  when  the  lo- 
cal markets  had  been  well  supplied,  he  sought 
Chicago,  fifty  miles  away.  It  was  a  day  when 
venison  held  it  own  with  the  products  of  a 
gradually  developing  civilization,  and  more 
often  than  not  the  carcass  of  a  deer  held  the 
place  of  vantage  on  a  hook  outside  the  market 
door. 

Years  before  Williamson  took  up  his 
abode  in  the  marsh  and  built  his  primitive  log 
cabin  on  the  ridge  to  the  north-east  of  "Lit- 
tle Bogus,"  the  counterfeiters  and  horse 
thieves  had  established  their  headquarters 
within  its  protecting  environs.  Here  from  as 
far  back  as  the  early  thirties,  they  carried  on 
successfully  their  nefarious  business  and,  ap- 
parently, gave  little  heed  to  the  humble  hun- 
ter or  trapper  so  long  as  he  showed  the  good 
sense  to  keep  a  bridle  on  his  tongue,  and  did 
not  interest  himself  too  much  in  their  affairs 
or  try  to  see  too  much.  Among  these  dwell- 
ers of  the  marsh  region  who  made  a  vocation 
of  hunting  and  trapping,  the  sinister  quali- 
ties of  their  associates  were  recognized  in  a 
way,  and  popular  gossip  attributed  to  each 
certain  dark  and  devious  pursuits  as  well  as 
certain  crimes  of  which  they  whispered  fur- 


158  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

tively  and  cautiously  among  themselves.  The 
"grape-vine  telegraph"  of  that  day  was  an 
effective  disseminator  of  the  "news"  of  this 
underworld  retreat,  and  these  tales  as  they 
passed  from  one  to  another,  lost  not  one  jot 
nor  tittle,  but  gained  in  interesting  detail  as 
they  made  the  rounds.  These  tales  were  not 
mere  fabrications  altogether ;  a  thread  of  fact 
and  truth  ran  through  them  all. 

Mrs.  Nutt  and  her  sister,  Mrs.  Hopper, 
as  girls  in  this  frontier  stronghold  knew  "Old 
Shafer."  He  was  sometimes  a  caller  at  their 
cabin  where  he  conversed  with  their  father. 
Mrs.  Nutt  recalls  that  he  was  a  powerful  man, 
with  a  good  head  and  as  fine  and  regular  a 
set  of  teeth  as  any  man  was  ever  blessed  with. 
To  her  father  he  remarked  one  day:  "Wil- 
liamson, I  shot  a  man  once,  and  all  I  could 
shake  out  of  him  was  a  dollar!"  "That  might 
sound  like  bravado,"  said  Mrs.  Nutt,  "but  you 
can  not  make  me  believe  but  "Old  Shafer" 
told  the  truth  for  once."  If  other  tales  con- 
cerning him  are  to  be  given  similar  credence 
then,  somewhere  amid  the  low-lying  sand 
dunes  and  scrub-oak  isles  that  surrounded  his 
cabin  there  is  secreted  to  this  day  a  nail-keg 
containing  a  goodly  quantity  of  gold  pieces — 
the  sum  of  the  profits  yielded  to  this  master 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  159 

criminal  during  a  lifetime.  So  persistent  was 
the  story  of  this  hidden  wealth  that,  after  his 
death,  search  was  made  for  it  in  and  about 
the  place  but  without  success.  There  were 
casks  containing  pork  and  beef,  but  the  fab- 
led nail-keg  and  its  treasure  is  still  undiscov- 
ered. 

But  the  legend  of  the  nail-keg  and  its 
contents  of  golden  eagles  still  lives  in  the 
memory  of  the  countryside,  and,  after  the 
lapse  of  half  a  century,  there  are  those  who 
believe  that  someone,  sometime,  more  lucky 
than  the  rest  will  stumble  upon  it  by  accident. 
You  ask  an  old-time  resident  of  the  marsh 
country  and  he  will  tell  you  that  most  certain- 
ly "Old  Shafer"  left  a  quantity  of  gold  se- 
creted somewhere.  No  question  about  that. 
Years  ago  there  were  those  of  the  older  resi- 
dents who  avowed  by  all  that  was  good  and 
great  that  they  had  beheld  the  ghost  of  "Old 
Shafer"  on  certain  nights  prowling  among  the 
oaks  in  the  near  vicinity  of  his  cabin  home, 
one  end  of  which  was  dug  into  the  side  of  a 
sand-dune.  Not  one  but  several  claim  to  have 
beheld  these  nocturnal  visitations  by  the  spec- 
tral figure  of  "Old  Shafer,"  on  some  special 
mission  bent,  and  once  when  the  moonlight 
glinting  through  an  open  space  in  the  oaks  fell 


160      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

full  upon  the  massive  back,  lo,  there  appear- 
ed the  gaping  gunshot  wound,  evidence 
enough  for  any  reasonable  person  that  the 
wraith  was  that  of  Shafer  and  no  one  else. 
Little  wonder  that  these  simple  folk  of  the 
swamps  should  spin  these  phantasies  of  the 
formidable  Shafer  and  clothe  his  memory  with 
attributes  approaching  the  supernatural. 

Notable  among  the  varied  accomplish- 
ments attributed  to  "Old  Shafer"  was  his  abil- 
ity to  change  distinguishing  spots  and  marks 
on  a  horse.  Many  maintain  that  such  was 
the  excellence  of  his  art  that  he  could  trans- 
form a  white  horse  into  a  bright  bay,  or  a 
bay  to  glossy  chestnut  or  black.  He  was  a 
wizard,  deep  and  uncanny,  whose  operations 
in  this  line  still  linger  in  the  memory  of  the 
swamp  folk  whose  gossip  and  legends  con- 
cerning him  are  as  varied  and  colorful  as  the 
best  examples  of  work  ever  turned  out  by 
this  master  hand.  Shafer's  cabin  home  was 
situated  two  miles  west  .and  one  and  one- 
quarter  miles  south  of  the  village  of  Rose 
Lawn,  Indiana,  on  an  oak-studded  sand-ridge 
that  bears  the  name  of  "Shafer's  Ridge"  to 
this  day.  This  ridge  laid  along  the  northern 
edge  of  what  was  termed  "The  Black  Marsh," 
and  was  some  five  or  six  miles  distant  from 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  161 

the  rendezvous  of  the  horse  thieves  on  "Big 
Bogus"  island  to  the  south.  He  thus  main- 
tained the  appearance  of  having  no  connec- 
tion with  the  band  on  "Big  Bogus"  island,  but 
was  conveniently  near  to  lend  a  hand  in  their 
operations. 

Frequently  a  stolen  horse  with  marks  so 
prominent  as  to  make  identification  easy,  was 
run  through  the  marsh  to  Shafer's  "studio," 
in  the  brush,  there  to  undergo  such  changes 
as  the  exigencies  of  the  case  made  necessary 
or  advisable.  Shafer's  practiced  eye  and 
skillful  hand  soon  transformed  the  tell-tale 
marks  so  that  one  might  go  with  an  animal 
thus  treated  out  into  the  highways  of  the 
world  with  little  fear  of  detection.  Of  course, 
the  transformation  was  accomplished  by 
means  of  dyes.  These  dyes  were  of  his  own 
concocting  and  were  brewed  from  certain 
barks  and  roots  found  in  the  wild.  Austin 
Dexter,  whose  eighty  years  of  continuous  re- 
sidence in  the  marsh  and  whose  knowledge  of 
Shafer's  methods  entitle  him  to  consideration, 
rather  scouts  the  idea  that  Shafer  went  so 
far  as  to  change  the  color  of  a  horse  entire- 
ly. In  most  cases  it  would  not  be  necessary. 
When  it  came  to  changing  the  spots  on  an 
animal,  however,  he  was  very  skillful.  A  like- 


162  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

\y  looking  horse  that  needed  only  a  white  star 
in  the  forehead  to  completely  baffle  descrip- 
tion, was  treated  in  an  unique  manner.  The 
animal's  head  was  first  firmly  secured  be- 
tween two  posts  and  then  a  boiled  potato,  hot 
out  of  the  kettle,  would  be  bound  to  the  fore- 
head and  left  long  enough  to  blister  the  skin, 
so  that  the  hair  would  fall  out.  After  five 
or  six  weeks  the  scar  healed  and  the  new  hair 
that  came  in  was  always  white,  and  the  star 
thus  produced  was  a  permanent  one. 

That  blackest  of  all  crimes  included  in 
the  criminal  repretoire  of  "Old  Shafer,"  was 
when  he  deliberately  murdered  his  youngest 
daughter.  This  girl  of  ten  years  observed  the 
unusual  operations  that  went  on  about  her, 
and  was  curious  and  questioning,  after  the 
manner  of  a  child,  but,  despite  numerous 
warnings  to  be  silent,  she  prattled  innocently 
of  it  all  in  the  presence  of  strangers.  One  day 
when  a  posse  in  search  of  two  stolen  horses 
stopped  at  Shafer's  place,  they  questioned  him 
closely  concerning  them.  The  old  bandit 
stoutly  denied  having  seen  them,  although  in 
reality  they  had  passed  through  his  hands 
several  days  before,  when  suddenly  the  girl 
exclaimed:  "Why,  papa,  don't  you  remember 
those  men  with  the  horses  who  stopped  here 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  163 


only  day  before  yesterday?"  He  cuffed  the 
girl  soundly  and  told  her  to  go  about  her  busi- 
ness. He  then  did  some  tall  lying  in  order 
to  extricate  himself,  although  the  men  in  the 
posse  were  far  from  satisfied,  and  regarded 
the  incident  of  the  girl  as  significant.  Shaf- 
er* s  rage  knew  no  bounds  and  then  and  there 
he  resolved  to  make  away  with  the  child. 
Shortly  after  that,  on  the  pretext  of  picking 
blue-berries  which  grew  abundantly  on  the 
sandy  intervals  of  the  marsh,  Shafer  and  the 
girl  left  the  cabin.  Shafer  returned  alone 
but  the  girl  was  never  seen  again. 

He  cut  her  throat  with  a  butcher  knife, 
at  least  that  is  the  legend  of  the  swamps,  and 
tearing  out  her  hair  he  scattered  it  in  hand- 
fuls  in  a  lonely  spot  in  the  scrub  to  make  it 
appear  that  she  had  been  attacked  and  de- 
voured by  the  wolves.  Shafer' s  oldest  daugh- 
ter, (he  had  but  two),  believed  the  story  of 
the  father  implicitly.  Later,  when  the  mother 
was  on  her  death  bed,  she  called  the  girl  to 
her  and,  drawing  her  close  whispered  the  aw- 
ful details  of  the  father's  crime  and  urged 
her  to  fly  from  the  accursed  spot  to  a  place 
of  safety.  Dismayed,  overwhelmed  by  this 
startling  intelligence,  the  daughter  did  as  she 
was  directed  and  ran  away,  but  not  until  the 


164      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

mother,  after  repeated  urging,  commanded 
her  to.  "I  can't  die  but  once,"  said  the  mother 
to  the  weeping  girl;  "for  me  the  end  is  not 
far  off;  but  you — you  who  will  still  live  when 
I  am  gone,  what  can  there  be  for  you  in  this 
hell-hole  of  iniquity  but  sorrow?  So,  fly,  fly. 
Go  as  far  away  as  you  can  and — forget,  forget 
this  horrid  thing — forget  everything,  every- 
thing, except  that  your  mother  loved  you." 

And  thus  obeying  a  mother's  injunction 
"Old  Shafer's"  daughter  set  her  face  resolute- 
ly to  the  south  and  made  her  way  slowly,  care- 
fully, cautiously  out  of  the  great  Kankakee 
swamps  in  quest  of  that  mystic  land  where, 
perchance,  happiness  might  be  found.  One 
John  Coff elt,  helped  the  girl  as  far  as  the  Wa- 
bash, and  from  that  far-off  day  until  the  pres- 
ent no  word  has  ever  been  received  from  her. 
John  Coff  elt  was  a  son  of  Justice  Coff  elt  who, 
at  that  time,  lived  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp. 
Justice  Coffelt  had  at  one  time  bound  Shafer 
over  to  the  grand  jury  on  a  charge  of  har- 
boring stolen  horses.  In  some  manner  it 
came  to  the  knowledge  of  Shafer  that  John 
Coffelt  had  aided  his  daughter  in  her  flight. 
The  result  of  it  all  was  that  in  a  short  time 
Coffelt  lost  nine  head  of  horses.  Such  was 
the  effectiveness  of  the  book-keeping  system 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  165 

employed  by  this  thief  of  long  memory  and 
implacable  mood. 

After  the  departure  of  his  daughter  and 
the  death  of  his  wife,  who  did  not  long  sur- 
vive, Shafer  was  left  alone  save  for  such  com- 
pany of  his  own  peculiar  "stripe"  who  now 
and  then  sought  him  out  on  business  bent.  If 
he  sometimes  thought  of  the  past,  if  some- 
times he  fled  from  his  own  thoughts,  terror 
stricken  after  sleepless  nights,  when  the 
shades  of  his  many  victims  walked  in  ghastly 
procession  before  his  staring  eyes,  the  "grape- 
vine telegraph"  of  the  dunes  and  swamps 
gave  not  the  slightest  hint  or  intimation. 
Rather,  there  was  increased  activity  on  the 
part  of  all  the  sinister  forces  harbored  with- 
in the  protecting  confines  of  the  "Beaver 
Lake"  country,  and  "Old  Shafer's"  keen  men- 
tality and  indefatigable  energy  were  behind 
many  a  successful  raid. 

Mr.  Walter  B.  Hess,  of  Momence,  whose 
citizenship  dates  back  to  1839,  was,  for  many 
years,  head  of  the  law  and  order  forces  that 
made  war  on  the  banditti  of  the  "Bogus  Is- 
land" stronghold.  He  it  was  who  succeeded 
in  conducting  the  Danville  authorities  into 
the  place.  A  horse  thief  was  shot  and  "Old 
Shafer"  was  arrested.    Shafer  served  a  short 


*§< 


t3. 
t-i-M    3 


C  -J  a>^ 


CO 


J? 

a 

1-3 

o  o  -*f  c 
^^  ,-# 

O   03 

s  ° 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  167 

term  in  the  penitentiary  as  a  result  of  this 
raid  but  on  his  return,  he  took  up  his  nefar- 
ious business  where  he  had  left  off.  Such  was 
the  strength  of  his  vengeance,  such  the  cun- 
ning and  devilish  ingenuity  he  exercised  that 
in  the  twelve  years  following  his  release  from 
the  penitentiary  Mr.  Hess  lost  fifty-three  head 
of  horses  poisoned,  shot,  cut  to  pieces  and 
stolen.  One  night  his  barn  east  of  Momence 
was  entered  and  eight  horses  contained  there- 
in were  poisoned.  Two  of  these  had  their 
tails  cut  off  and  they  were  otherwise  muti- 
lated. The  barn  was  still  locked  on  the  follow- 
ing morning.  And  "Old  Shafer"  gloated  over 
the  toll  he  had  exacted  from  his  arch  enemy, 
for  these  raids  had  been  conducted  with  such 
consumate  skill  that  not  the  slightest  trace 
had  been  left  by  which  the  legal  authorities 
could  reach  him. 

After  a  life  of  crime  which  extended  over 
many  years,  during  which  he  served  a  short 
jail  sentence  or  two,  "Old  Shafer"  fell  by  the 
same  means  he  had  so  often  employed.  He 
was  shot  in  the  back  at  short  range,  the  charge 
of  buckshot  tearing  a  frightful  hole  in  his 
body  and  dropping  him  in  his  tracks.  Details 
as  given  by  the  swamp  folk  are  meager  and 
conflicting.  One  report  has  it  that  Shafer's 


168  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

assassin  crept  up  to  his  cabin  in  the  early 
dusk  of  March  and  shot  through  the  window 
while  he  was  engaged  in  frying  a  panful  of 
bacon  over  the  open  blaze  of  the  fireplace; 
that  he  lunged  head  first  into  and  face  down- 
wards into  the  blaze  atop  of  the  frying-pan, 
and  that  when  found  some  time  later,  the  fire 
had  burned  out  but  not  before  it  had  burned 
the  upper  part  of  Shafer's  body  until  it  was 
a  black,  charred  mass,  almost  unrecognizable. 
Mrs.  Nutt  and  Mrs.  Hopper  give  quite 
another  version.  Shaf  er  was  shot  in  the  back 
at  close  range  as  he  was  about  to  enter  his 
cabin.  At  the  entrance  to  his  cabin  there  were 
two  or  three  log  steps  placed  in  a  shallow  area- 
way  that  led  down  to  the  door,  and  "Old 
Shafer"  stood  on  the  topmost  of  these  steps 
when  the  fatal  shot  was  fired.  In  his  right 
hand  he  held  the  bail  of  a  small  iron  kettle  and 
in  his  left,  clutched  in  a  death-grip,  was  an 
old  dish-rag.  The  assassin  gathered  leaves 
and  small  branches  with  which  he  surround- 
ed the  body  as  it  laid  there,  and  set  them  on 
fire  with  the  evident  intention  of  cremating 
the  body  of  the  old  bandit  in  his  own  premises. 
The  leaves  burned  out  but  failed  to  ignite  the 
brush  and,  barring  a  scorched  or  charred  spot 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  169 

here  and  there,  the  body  was  practically  un- 
touched. 

John  Jenkins,  of  Berrien  county,  Michi- 
gan, located  in  the  marsh  and  in  the  Town- 
ship of  Lake  in  the  year  1865.  Shafer  was 
killed  in  March  of  1869  and  in  the  interim 
Jenkins  had  been  elected  to  the  office  of  Jus- 
tice-of-the-peace.  On  hearing  the  news  of 
Shafer's  death  early  the  following  morning, 
he  proceeded  to  look  up  the  law  to  see  what 
his  duties  as  Justice  were  in  the  emergency, 
there  being  no  regularly  qualified  coroner 
available.  He  found  that  the  law  provided 
that  the  Justice  should  conduct  ari  inquest  in 
such  cases.  Accordingly  he  repaired  to  the 
Shafer  home,  viewed  the  body  and  took  note 
of  the  surroundings,  and  then  gave  orders 
authorizing  the  removal  of  the  body  to  his 
home.  Mr.  Jenkins  at  that  time  lived  on  the 
south-east  corner  of  the  section  that  adjoins 
the  present  village  of  Lake  on  the  west,  his 
home  being  located  on  the  north  side  of  the 
road  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  cor- 
oner, west.  Situated  a  little  ways  to  the  south- 
east of  his  home,  Mr.  Jenkins  had  a  log  black- 
smith shop  where  work  for  the  neighborhood 
was  carried  on,  and  to  this  place  the  body  of 
"Old  Shafer"  was  directed  to  be  brought.  It 


170  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  body  ar- 
rived. Two  barrels  were  upended,  a  wide 
puncheon  slab  laid  thereon  and  there,  in  such 
state  as  the  limited  facilities  of  the  frontier 
afforded  rested  the  body  of  the  grim  old 
bandit  of  the  marsh  in  all  its  wretchedness, 
still  clutching  in  his  left  hand  the  old  dish- 
rag,  and  with  the  grime  of  the  day's  work  up- 
on him. 

Dr.  John  F.  Shronts,  who  first  began  the 
practice  of  medicine  in  this  swamp  region, 
later  moving  to  Momence,  was  authorized  by 
Mr.  Jenkins  to  perform  an  autopsy  on  the 
body  as  the  law  requires.  The  day  was  far 
spent — in  fact  it  was  quite  dark  by  the  time 
Dr.  Shronts  arrived,  so  that  it  became  neces- 
sary for  the  Doctor  to  work  by  the  dim,  uncer- 
tain light  of  tallow  candles.  These  were  held 
conveniently  by  various  members  of  the  jury 
who  followed  the  Doctor's  every  move  in  the 
gruesome  procedure  in  evident  absorption. 
What  a  gathering  was  that  of  typical  frontier 
types  that  thronged  the  little  road-side  black- 
smith shop  that  night — that  last  night  "Old 
Shaf  er"  spent  this  side  of  the  grave !  Thrilled 
by  the  news  of  his  sudden  and  tragic  demise 
and  that  an  inquest  had  been  ordered,  a  most 
unusual  thing  for   that  day,    better   than  a 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  171 

score  of  Beaver  Lake  dwellers  gathered  at 
the  little  shop  on  the  roadside,  interested  spec- 
tators of  all  that  went  on.  Dressed  in  the 
rough,  weatherworn  garb  of  the  hunter  and 
trapper,  each  one  with  that  indispensable  ac- 
companiment of  frontier  life,  a  dog  or  two 
of  the  hound  species,  they  surged  in  and  about 
the  place  in  their  eager  anxiety  to  follow  ev- 
ery move  of  the  surgeon.  Really,  Shafer's 
taking  off  was  an  event.  The  burden  of  dread 
under  which  the  community  had  lived  for  so 
many  years  had  thus  been  suddenly  lifted, 
and  that  sense  of  relief  experienced  by  the 
populace  at  the  passing  of  so  formidable  a 
menace  as  "Old  Shaf er"  was  clearly  manifest- 
ed by  a  perfect  babble  of  conversation  that 
left  no  phase  of  the  dead  man's  life  untouched. 
To  the  general  feeling  of  security  and  well- 
being  was  added,  in  most  cases,  a  glow  of 
complete  satisfaction  inspired  by  generous 
drinks  of  whiskey. 

Now  and  then  some  member  of  the  little 
company  of  onlookers  that  peered  through 
the  open  door  into  the  yellow-lighted  depths 
of  the  shop,  felt  a  momentary  tremor  and  a 
chill  fn  the  region  of  the  spine  as  he  beheld 
the  lifeless  form,  inert  and  motionless,  helpless 
under  the  deft,  swiftly  moving  hands  of  Dr. 


172  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Shronts.  The  soft  cartilages  of  the  ribs  were 
severed  one  by  one  and  the  sternum  entire 
lifted  to  an  acute  angle  and  nearly  two  doz- 
en large  buck-shot  taken  from  the  cavity.  The 
autopsy  thus  established  beyond  question  or 
cavil  that  "Old  Shafer"  had  come  to  his  death 
from  the  effects  of  these  buck-shot,  fired  in- 
to his  back  from  a  gun  in  the  hands  of  some 
person  unknown  to  the  jury.  There  were  the 
buck-shot — a  teaspoonful  of  them — enough  to 
kill  three  men.  And  Shafer's  neighbors  who 
thus  talked  of  it  "  'Lowed  thar  wuz  none  too 
many  at  that!  Just  a  safe,  comfortable  load 
for  a  man  like  Mike  Shafer — one  couldn't  be 
too  careful  when  hunting  game  like  Mike!" 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  autopsy  the  crowd 
withdrew;  one  by  one  the  lights  were  extin- 
guished; the  door  of  the  wayside  shop  was 
closed  and  latched  and  if  anyone  watched  be- 
side that  lonely  bier  that  night  it  was  only  the 
invisible  spirits  of  darkness  with  which  he  had 
fraternized  in  life. 

At  the  Jenkins  home  across  the  road  the 
investigation  was  renewed  with  a  view  to  dis- 
covering, if  possible,  the  perpetrator  of  the 
crime,  although  the  public,  in  this  instance, 
did  not  look  upon  it  as  a  crime  particularly. 
Two  men,  Baum  and  Cushinberry,  frequenters 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  173 

of  the  swamp  concerning  whose  affairs  little 
or  nothing  was  known,  were  examined.  Their 
stories  were  conflicting.  They  admitted  hav- 
ing had  some  dealings  with  Shafer  the  day 
before  he  was  found  dead  at  his  cabin.  Re- 
luctantly they  admitted  that  they  had  had  a 
falling  out  and  that  Shafer,  in  his  stormy  way, 
had  threatened  them  both  with  death.  Al- 
though the  two  operated  much  together,  there 
was  a  notable  discrepancy  in  the  testimony 
they  gave  concerning  their  business  affairs. 
Harking  back  to  that  night  of  more  than  a 
half  century  ago,  Mr.  A.  B.  Jenkins,  now  of 
Morocco,  Indiana,  then  a  lad  of  eleven  years, 
recalls  the  furtive,  shifty  manner,  in  which 
they  gave  their  testimony  and  has  no  hesi- 
tancy in  pronouncing  them  the  real  culprits. 
They  were  told  to  hold  themselves  in  readi- 
ness to  appear  before  the  jury  again  next  day 
but,  instead,  they  set  out  on  foot  in  the  dark- 
ness for  the  nearby  Illinois  state-line.  Captain 
Silas  Sink,  a  resident  of  the  Beaver  Lake 
country,  who  was  returning  from  Momence 
late  that  night,  met  them  only  a  mile  or  so 
east  of  the  state-line.  The  wives  of  Baum  and 
Cushinberry,  after  several  months,  left  the 
country  and  joined  them  in  all  probability. 
They  were  never  heard  from  after  that  In 


174  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

the  course  of  time  it  came  out  that  these  men 
were  counterfeiters,  working  in  collusion  with 
Shafer. 

Fred  Tanner,  a  resident  of  the  Beaver 
Lake  country  towards  whom  suspicion  pointed 
an  accusing  finger,  was  held  to  the  grand  jury 
as  a  result  of  the  coroner's  jury  investigations. 
It  was  brought  out  that  there  had  been  a  bit- 
ter feud  between  Shafer  and  Tanner  result- 
ing from  Tanner  having  lost  several  head  of 
colts  which  he  charged  Shafer  with  having 
fed  with  poisoned  corn.  Tanner  was  emphatic 
in  his  charge  against  Shafer  and  most  persis- 
tent in  his  efforts  to  make  the  old  outlaw  pay 
for  them.  So  insistent  did  Tanner  become  in 
pressing  his  claim  for  the  colts  that  "Old 
Shafer"  was  finally  driven  to  the  extremity 
of  issuing  an  ultimatum,  the  gist  of  which 
was  something  as  follows:  "I  am  not  going 
to  pay  a  cent  for  the  horses  but,  I  am  going 
on  your  trail  with  a  gun  at  ten  o'clock  tomor- 
row, and  when  I  get  through  with  you,  your 
hide  wont  hold  ear  corn !"  And  those  who  knew 
anything  of  Shaf er's  iron  will  and  implacable 
spirit,  once  they  were  aroused,  knew  that  a 
statement  of  that  nature  from  him  meant 
serious  trouble  if  not  bloodshed.    The  trial  of 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  175 

Tanner  later  by  the  civil  authorities  resulted 
in  his  being  acquitted. 

Shafer  was  buried  the  following  morn- 
ing. There  was  no  semblance  of  a  funeral. 
Those  were  primitive  days  in  the  Lake  coun- 
try and  the  deceased  inspired  merely  a  sense 
of  relief,  now  that  he  was  gone.  The  remains 
with  only  the  scant  covering  afforded  by  the 
half-burnt  clothes  he  wore  the  day  he  was 
killed,  were  deposited  in  the  bed  of  a  lumber 
wagon  and  conveyed  to  the  little  frontier 
cemetery  that  now  serves  the  town  of  Lake 
Village,  two  miles  away  to  the  north-west, 
on  a  high,  sandy  knoll.  Following  the  wagon 
as  it  moved  along  the  sandy  trail  were  eight 
or  ten  marsh  citizens  who  had  helped  to  swell 
the  crowd  at  the  autopsy  and  who  were  ani- 
mated by  a  desire  "to  see  the  thing  through." 
Several  were  on  horseback;  others  walked, 
and  as  they  walked  they  smoked  and  cracked 
jokes  and  laughed,  while  the  hounds,  ranging 
the  countryside  in  joyous  abandon,  added  their 
deep-toned  baying  to  the  medley  of  sounds 
more  joyful  than  sad  the  day  Shafer  went  to 
his  long  home. 

No  coffin  was  provided,  not  even  a  rough 
box  of  boards.  This  man  who  for  so  long,  out- 
raged the  laws  of  God  and  man,  who  had 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  111 

murdered  his  own  child  and  hid  her  body  in 
the  lonely  waste  with  only  a  covering  of  sand, 
deserved  nothing  better  for  himself.  In  fact, 
the  consensus  of  opinion  was  that  he  really 
did  not  deserve  that  much.  So,  a  hole,  a  shal- 
low one,  not  a  grave  exactly,  was  hastily  dug, 
the  remains  deposited  therein  and  as  hastily 
covered  over.  With  the  last  shovelful  on  the 
mound  the  wielder  of  the  shovel  raised  it  high 
and  brought  it  down  with  a  resounding  whack, 
remarking  while  the  onlookers  guffawed: 
"There  you  are,  Mike  Shafer,  and  may  the 
devil  make  you  dance  a  hornpipe  on  the  hot- 
test griddle  there  is  in  hell." 

It  is  generally  believed  that  the  body  of 
Shafer  did  not  long  remain  in  its  lonely  abode 
on  the  very  peak  of  the  wind-swept  sand  knoll. 
Several  days  later  his  grave  showed  unmis- 
takable signs  of  having  been  disturbed.  Some 
said  it  was  the  work  of  the  wolves.  Others 
guessed  shrewdly  that  it  was  the  work  of  a 
younger  set  of  boys  who  had  avowed  their 
intention  of  stringing  the  body  of  Shafer  up 
to  a  jack-oak  tree.  Mr.  Jenkins  is  of  the  opin- 
ion that  the  skeleton  of  a  body  which  the  devil 
would  not  have  claimed  would,  never-the-less, 
have  been  hailed  as  an  valued  accessory  to  a 
doctor's  outfit  in  that  day  of  the  frontier.  Var- 


178  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

ious  rumors  were  rife  concerning  the  final 
disposition  of  the  body.  He  says  imagination 
might  picture  a  fire  burning  under  a  capacious 
old  fashioned  soap-kettle,  set  in  some  conven- 
ient copse  of  scrub-oak  secure  from  prying 
eyes,  wherein  the  body  of  the  old  bandit  was 
gradually  reduced,  and  not  be  far  off  the  truth, 
possibly.  And  in  that  case,  what  could  be 
more  fitting  as  a  finale  to  a  life  of  crime  than 
those  well-known  lines  from  Macbeth,  where 
the  witches  chant — 

"Double,   double   toil   and   trouble, 
Fire  burn  and  cauldon  bubble!" 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  179 


JOHN  HADDON  MAKES  A  KILLING 

John  Haddon  was,  for  years  well  known 
in  and  about  Momence  as  a  hunter,  trapper 
and  all  around  frontiersman.  He  was  a  char- 
acter whose  oddities  are  still  recalled  by  some 
of  the  older  residents.  He  was  the  last  of  the 
picturesque  wilderness  types  that  served  the 
sparse  settlements  of  the  prairie  as  mail  car- 
rier. When  the  Illinois  Central  built  into 
Kankakee  in  1853,  Haddon  lost  his  job.  Prior 
to  1841  Momence  citizens  used  to  go  to  Chi- 
cago or  Bunkum  for  their  mail.  When  Mo- 
mence got  a  postoffice  finally,  in  1841  it  is 
said,  the  mail  was  brought  from  Baileytown, 
Indiana,  ten  miles  west  of  Michigan  City,  to 
Momence  and  Bourbonnais,  by  Oliver  Warner. 
This  route  did  not  last  long,  evidently.  Most 
of  the  old  timers  remember  Heber  Rexford 
who  carried  the  mail  on  his  back  from  Chica- 
go to  old  Bunkum  by  way  of  the  Chicago- 
Vincennes  Trail.  Anselem  Chipman  succeed- 
ed Rexford  on  the  mail  route  and  Haddon  fol- 
lowed Chipman. 

Mr.  R.  A.  Hewitt  recalls  the  story  of  Had- 
don and  the  deer  as  related  by  the  late  James 
S.  Garrett.  After  losing  his  job  as  carrier  of 
the  mail,  Haddon,  in  the  early  fifties,  like 


180  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

many  other  of  the  early  settlers  about  Mo- 
mence,  spent  a  portion  of  the  winter  months 
in  the  timber  along  the  Kankakee  river  east 
of  Momence  getting  out  logs,  which  were 
floated  down  to  the  saw-mill.  Momence  for  a 
time,  it  is  said,  had  the  only  saw-mill  on  the 
river  between  Wilmington  and  the  Indiana 
state-line.  It  will  be  remembered  by  many 
that  the  remains  of  the  old  mill  were  still 
standing  at  late  as  1873. 

On  one  of  these  winter  trips  of  Haddon's 
to  the  timber  he  discovered  a  goodly  herd  of 
deer  on  one  of  the  small  islands  nearby.  Think- 
ing that  fresh  venison  would  be  a  welcome 
change  from  the  regulation  "pork  and  beans" 
of  a  winter  camp,  he  crossed  over  to  the  island 
on  the  ice  with  axe  and  bowie-knife  in  hand. 
The  herd,  frightened  by  his  approach,  made  a 
wild  dash  for  the  river.  They  no  sooner  struck 
the  ice  than  they  went  sprawling  in  all  di- 
rections. Haddon,  as  he  pursued  them  on  the 
ice  found  himself  in  pretty  much  the  same  pre- 
dicament, he  being  shod  with  boots  full  of 
hob-nails  in  the  soles.  The  deer  were  help- 
less and  so  was  he.  But,  in  an  instant,  he  re- 
solved that  he  would  not  let  a  mere  matter  of 
hob-nailed  boots  interfere  with  a  "bag"  so  val- 
uable as  this,  so,  down  on  the  ice  he  sat,  off 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  181 

came  the  boots  and,  like  Bobby  Burns'  witch 
in  Tarn  O'Shanter,  he  didn't  go  after  them  in 
his  "sark,"  but  in  his  stockings.  He  complet- 
ed the  slaughter  of  the  herd,  some  ten  or  a 
dozen,  and  to  his  sorrow  found  that  his  feet 
were  so  badly  frozen  that  it  was  with  great 
difficulty  that  he  got  back  to  camp. 

Just  what  disposition  was  ever  made  of 
the  venison  and  hides  of  this  herd  Mr.  Garret 
was  unable  to  say.  Perhaps  it  was  distributed 
among  the  numerous  camps  on  the  upper 
river  after  reserving  a  goodly  portion  for 
Haddon  himself  as  he  lingered  in  camp  nurs- 
ing a  pair  of  badly  frozen  feet. 

It  is  related  of  Haddon  that  one  day  when 
Yankee  Robinson's  show  exhibited  in  Mo- 
mence,  he  attended.  Clad  in  his  unique  fron- 
tiers garb  of  buckskin  shirt  and  coon-skin  cap 
Haddon  was  leaning  against  one  of  the  poles 
that  supported  the  top,  when  a  circus  employe 
spoke  to  him  rather  roughly  and  told  him  to 
get  out  of  there.  Haddon  paid  no  attention 
to  the  fellow  and  again  he  yelled:  "Say,  you, 
get  away  from  that  pole  and  be  damn  quick 
about  it."  Haddon  reached  for  his  hunting 
knife  with  the  remark :  "You  clear  out  of  here 
yourself  or  I'll  open  you  from  end  to  end  like 
a  herrin'."  And    Haddon    continued    to  lean 


182  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

against  that  pole  until  he  became  so  weary  he 
just  had  to  sit  down. 

Haddon  always  maintained  that  he  had 
Indian  blood  in  his  veins  and  something  of 
color  was  given  to  the  statement  by  reason 
of  his  dark  and  swarthy  countenance.  For 
years,  after  the  customs  of  developing  civil- 
ization had  gradually  displaced  those  of  the 
frontier,  Haddon  continued  to  wear  the  buck- 
skin hunting  shirt  and  coon-skin  cap,  and  al- 
ways at  his  side  dangled  the  hunting  knife  of 
the  woodsman.  The  old  ferry  that  used  to 
be  operated  in  an  early  day  west  of  the  island- 
point  at  Momence,  had,  on  each  side  of  the 
river,  great  hewn  white-oak  posts  set  in  the 
ground  to  which  the  ferry  cable  was  made 
fast.  Haddon,  at  some  time,  appropriated  the 
post  on  the  south  side  of  the  river  and  re- 
moved it  to  his  farm  (which  later  was  owned 
by  R.  A.  Hewitt),  where,  after  all  these  years, 
it  is  still,  in  use.  Mr.  Hewitt  tells  that  he  dug 
it  out,  cut  off  a  portion  of  it  and  re-set  it  to  do 
duty  as  a  gate-post. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  183 

"CHIEF  WHITE  FOOT"  VISITS  HIS 
BIRTH  PLACE 

Mrs.  Orra  F.  Allen,  of  Momence,  has  kind- 
ly furnished  us  the  following  incident  concern- 
ing the  old  Pottawattomie  chief  "White  Foot." 

In  the  year  1872  my  father,  Lewellyn  H. 
Foster,  and  family,  lived  on  a  farm  north  and 
west  of  Momence,  known  as  the  Huntley  farm. 
On  a  very  hot  day  in  the  early  spring  of  that 
year,  we  children,  who  were  playing  together 
in  the  yard,  were  very  much  surprised  on  be- 
holding an  exceptionally  large  Indian  and  his 
squaw  and  two  children  coming  into  the  yard. 
We  children  flew  for  the  house  and  mother's 
protecting  arms. 

The  big  Indian  gave  his  name  as  "Chief 
White  Foot,"  a  Pottawattomie  of  the  Prairie 
Band  who,  years  before,  when  this  was  the 
domain  of  his  people,  had  been  born  near 
unto  where  our  home  stood.  He  asked  per- 
mission to  pitch  his  camp  for  the  night  in  the 
yard,  which  permission  was  readily  granted. 
They  remained  for  a  portion  of  the  following 
day,  during  which  time  "White  Foot"  silent- 
ly surveyed  the  surroundings  of  the  land  of 
his  birth  with  evident  satisfaction.  Late  in  the 
afternoon  they  resumed  their  journey.  Their 


184  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


objective  was  Beaver  Lake,  where  they  spent 
the  summer.  The  Beaver  Lake  country,  in 
that  day,  was  a  wonderful  retreat  for  wild 
game. 

It  is  recalled  that,  upon  their  return  in 
the  early  fall,  it  was  quite  cold.  Again  they 
asked  permission  to  pitch  their  tepee  in  the 
yard.  On  this  occasion,  in  the  course  of  con- 
versation, "White  Foot"  proudly  exhibited  his 
bare  feet,  one  of  which,  by  some  rare  freak 
of  nature,  was  much  whiter  than  the  other 
hence,  the  title  "White  Foot."  The  old  chief 
was  especially  proud  of  his  two  sons  and,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  mean  to  his  squaw,  all 
of  which  was  deeply  impressed  on  the  youth- 
ful minds  of  the  children  of  our  family. 

Chief  White  Foot  was  a  very  large  Indian, 
and  presented  a  very  stunning  appearance 
rigged  in  his  Indian  paraphernalia.  He  wore 
moccasins,  a  brilliantly  colored  blanket,  and  a 
very  queer  head-gear  made  up  of  beautiful 
eagle  feathers  and  others  of  many  colors.  I 
remember  my  mother  saying,  after  they  had 
gone,  that  these  colored  feathers  were  from 
a  very  rare  bird,  rare  even  in  that  day.  The 
squaw  wore  very  large  ear-rings  of  hammer- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  185 

ed  silver,  besides  a  quantity  of  beads,  while 
her  fingers  were  ornamented  with  large, 
showy  rings  of  brass.  She  also  wore  a  metal 
circlet  on  her  ankle.  The  squaw,  also,  wore  a 
bright  colored  blanket  which  completely  envel- 
oped her  ample  form.  She  wore  nothing  on 
her  head  and  neither  did  the  sons.  When 
they  departed  Chief  White  Foot  gave  to  moth- 
er a  beaded  buckskin  bag  which  is  still  pre- 
served as  a  prized  memento  of  the  old  days.  To 
my  younger  sister  he  gave  a  pair  of  beaded 
moccasins. 

This  was  the  last  ever  seen  of  White  Foot 
and  his  family  in  this  neighborhood  and  the 
date  1872  probably  marks  the  last  of  the  hunt- 
ing parties  of  the  Pottawattomi  of  the  west, 
seeking  the  old  haunts  of  their  people  on  the 
Kankakee  and  over  in  the  Indiana  marshes. 


186  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


REMINISCENCES  OF  W.  W.  PARISH, 
SENIOR 

The  following  interesting  reminiscences 
of  one  of  .Momence's  oldest  and  most  popular 
citizens  were  happily  collated  by  Hon.  C.  M. 
C.  Buntain  while  Mr.  Parish  was  at  his  best, 
and  were  published  in  the  Momence  Progress 
of  December  27,  1912.  These  reminiscences  fit 
in  perfectly  and  form  a  most  valuable  contri- 
bution to  the  lore  of  early  days  in  Kankakee 
county  which  it  is  the  purpose  of  this  volume 
to  preserve.  Mr.  Parish's  varied  activities, 
his  rise  to  affluence  by  means  of  frugality  and 
industry,  should  prove  an  inspiration  to  the 
the  youth  of  today,  who  enjoy  advantages  and 
opportunities  undreamed  of  in  the  days  when 
Mr.  Parish  came  into  the  west.  His  story 
follows. 

"In  1840,  in  September,  I  left  home  in 
Naples,  N.  Y.  for  the  west.  I  first  drove  over- 
land eighteen  miles  to  Canandaigua,  our  coun- 
ty-seat then,  by  the  so-called  "strap  railroad" 
to  Rochester,  then  by  the  Erie  Canal  to  Buf- 
falo, thence  by  boat  to  Chicago.  This  boat 
had  no  regular  schedule.  At  Chicago  or  Mil- 
waukee there  was  then  no  harbor.  We  were 
landed  by  lighter.    A  small  boat  would  come 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  187 

out  to  the  steamer  and  received  the  passen- 
gers and  the  cargo.  Chicago  at  this  time  was 
a  small  country  village.  I  went  overland  from 
Chicago  to  Momence;  stopped  at  a  place  on 
the  "Sac  Trail,"  called  a  hotel,  about  three 
miles  south  of  Crete,  but  which  was  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  one  of  the  old  Pennsyl- 
vania wagon  boxes.  This  hotel  was  kept  by 
Mr.  Brown.  Later  a  substantial  log  house 
was  substituted  for  the  wagon-box  hotel,  and 
still  later  a  frame  house  took  its  place. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  "Sac 
Trail"  was  an  old  Indian  trail  running  from 
Detroit  to  St.  Louis.  When  I  reached  Mo- 
mence, after  a  continuous  trip  of  eighteen 
days,  I  found  but  one  log  house  situated  on 
the  west  side  of  what  is  now  known  as  Range 
street,  near  the  present  site  of  Bur  dick  & 
Joubert's  drug  store.  I  hired  out  to  A.  S. 
Vail  and  Orson  Beebe  at  fifty  cents  a  day.  As 
there  were  no  stores  in  the  village  our  trad- 
ing point  for  groceries,  in  fact  everything, 
was  Chicago.  When  we  secured  a  mill  on  the 
Kankakee  river  then  we  had  our  rough  lum- 
ber, but  still  had  to  haul  all  finishing  lumber 
from  Chicago.  I  have  seen  as  many  as  two 
hundred  wagons  at  one  time  camping  on  the 
river  banks  at  Momence  enroute  to  Chicago. 


188      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Cattle  and  hogs  were  driven  to  Chicago  from 
as  far  south  as  Vermilion  county,  Illinois.  I 
distinctly  remember  of  seeing  a  drove  of  five 
hundred  turkeys  being  driven  to  Chicago. 
They  camped  on  the  island  in  Momence  over 
night. 

My  wife  and  I  began  keeping  house  with 
the  sum  of  sixty  dollars.  With  my  ox  team 
and  money,  constituting  all  our  property,  we 
drove  to  Chicago  for  our  household  furniture. 
There  were  no  homes  between  Momence  and 
Goodenow.  Returning  with  the  furniture,  our 
wagon  was  mired  in  the  mud  and  sloughs, 
near  what  is  now  Harvey,  Illinois.  I  carried 
my  wife  out  of  the  wagon  and  then  the  gro- 
ceries and  furniture,  and  with  the  aid  of  a 
log  chain  the  oxen  succeeded  in  drawing  the 
empty  wagon  out  of  the  almost  impassable 
road.  It  took  us  one  week  to  make  the  trip.  Set- 
tled in  our  log  house  near  Momence,  in  a  new 
country,  I  began  the  only  occupation  at  that 
time,  apparently,  open  to  man — farming.  Our 
tools  were  all  hand-made,  and  we  made  them. 
They  consisted  of  an  wooden  plow,  a  wooden 
drag  and  a  hand-sickle,  and  later,  a  cradle 
took  its  place.  Our  threshing  floor  was  on 
the  prairie.  Oxen  stamped  out  the  grain  and 
the  wind  separated  the  chaff  from  the  wheat. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE 189 

Nature's  threshing  machine  gave  way  to  what 
was  called  a  "Hedge-Hog"  machine. 

During  the  period  from  1840  to  1850,  you 
had  the  choice  of  farm  lands  for  $1.25  per 
acre.  Wheat  delivered  in  Chicago  was  worth 
35  cents  a  bushel;  dressed  pork,  $1.50  per 
hundred;  corn  and  oats,  ten  cents  per  bushel. 
I  distinctly  remember  of  giving  700  bushels 
of  oats  and  corn  mixed  for  an  old  horse,  the 
first  I  ever  owned.  The  first  wheat  I  ever 
saw  was  in  1841.  It  was  growing  on  a  tract 
of  land  immediately  east  of  the  Chicago-Vin- 
cennes  State  Road,  on  the  William  (Squire) 
Nichols  farm,  east  of  the  brick  house  (now 
standing)  and  east  of  the  Chicago- Vincennes 
Road  at  the  point  marked  by  the  stone  "179." 
I  helped  to  cut  all  this  wheat  with  a  hand  sickle 
at  fifty  cents  a  day.  The  wheat  yielded  forty 
bushels  an  acre,  and  the  market  price  was  35 
cents  a  bushel. 

As  soon  as  the  Illinois  Central  was  built 
through  the  county,  the  price  of  land  advanc- 
ed to  $7  per  acre,  according  to  the  distance 
from  the  railroad.  Land  values  from  this 
time  gradually  increased,  and  during  the  civil 
war  I  owned  eighty  acres  of  what  is  now 
occupied  by  the  dwelling  houses  on  the  south 
side  of  the  river,  at  Momence,  and  east  of  the 


190  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Chicago  &  Eastern  Illinois  Railroad.  This 
tract  was  worth  about  forty  or  fifty  dollars 
an  acre.  I  sold  wheat  from  this  land  that 
yielded  thirty-five  bushels  to  the  acre,  for 
which  I  received  $2.20  per  bushel  at  the  Mo- 
mence  mill.  The  land  adjoining  this  tract, 
now  owned  by  my  son,  is  worth  according  to 
present  values  (1912),  $200  per  acre.  Eighty 
acres  of  land  in  the  Six-Mile  Grove,  near  Mo- 
mence,  where  the  Nichols  cemetery  is  now  lo- 
cated, was  traded  to  William  (Squire)  Nichols 
for  a  span  of  mules.  Prior  to  this  mill  we 
drove  to  Attica,  Indiana,  a  distance  of  seventy- 
five  miles,  to  have  our  wheat  ground.  This 
lasted  but  one  year.  Then  we  drove  to  Wil- 
mington, Illinois,  a  distance  of  thirty  miles, 
for  our  flour.  This  continued  for  a  number 
of  years. 

The  first  corn  I  ever  saw  planted  was  by 
the  father  of  Andrew  Dayton,  east  of  Mo- 
mence.  His  wife  dropped  the  corn  and  he 
pushed  the  dirt  over  it  with  his  foot.  The 
first  corn  planter  was  a  hand- jabber,  plant- 
ing two  rows  at  a  time.  Mr.  John  Wicks,  of 
Momence,  sold  them.  We  drove  twenty-five 
miles  south  of  Momence  to  get  our  mail,  and 
received  it  once  a  week.  The  manuscript  was 
folded  and  sealed  with  a  wafer.    It  took  two 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  191 

months  for  a  letter  mailed  in  Naples,  N.  Y., 
to  reach  Momence.  The  postage  was  twenty- 
five  cents,  paid  by  the  receiver.  Lorain  Bee- 
be  was  the  first  postmaster  at  Momence.  The 
Kankakee  river  was  the  dividing  line  between 
Will  and  Iroquois  counties,  south  of  the  river 
being  Iroquois  county-  and  Will  (now  Kanka- 
kee) county  on  the  north.  The  county-seat 
of  Iroquois  county  was  Middleport,  one  mile 
west  of  what  is  now  Watseka,  on  the  Iroquois 
river.  I  frequently  served  as  juror  in  the  cir- 
cuit court  there.  Court  would  not  last  over 
a  week  or  two.  I  heard  Abraham  Lincoln  try 
a  lawsuit  there  in  1840  or  1841.  He  came  up 
from  Danville  on  horseback.  We  used  to  gath- 
er around  him  and  hear  him  tell  his  stories. 
I  might  say,  in  passing,  that  the  next  time  I 
saw  him  was  in  his  own  home  in  Springfield, 
where  I  shook  hands  with  him,  the  year  he 
was  nominated  for  the  presidency.  I  was  in 
Springfield  for  two  days.  He  had  a  pile  of 
rails  in  his  back  yard  and  before  I  came  away 
they  were  all  taken  by  the  relic  hunters. 

John  Chamberlain,  John  Wertz  and  my- 
self were  elected  three  "Side  Judges"  of  Iro- 
quois county.  Our  duties  were  similar  to 
those  of  the  supervisors  now.  The  county 
was  badly  in  debt.    Its  debts  were  paid  by 


192  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

county  orders,  and  men  bought  these  at  fifty 
cents  on  the  dollar  and  paid  their  taxes  with 
them.  We  three  decided  to  stop  this,  and  by 
our  efforts  made  them  worth  par.  We  then 
got  some  money,  and  the  first  thing  we  did 
was  to  put  a  roof  on  the  court  house.  My 
colleagues  were  opposed  to  the  carving  out 
of  Kankakee  county  from  Iroquois  and  Will, 
and  strenuously  worked  to  retain  the  old 
boundaries,  as  I  did  for  the  new.  The  people 
by  their  votes  settled  the  matter  in  a  way 
satisfactory  to  me.  It  was  a  day's  journey 
to  the  Middleport  county-seat.  Lawyers  from 
Joliet  rode  horseback  to  Middleport  to  try 
cases,  and  Iroquois  county  lawyers  rode  to 
Joliet  for  the  same  purpose.  My  first  tax  re- 
ceipt was  for  fifteen  cents,  being  the  taxes 
on  my  sole  property,  a  yoke  of  oxen.  At  this 
time  the  sheriff  collected  the  taxes.  They 
were  paid  to  him  on  the  old  Lowe  farm,  near 
the  present  East  Court  street  bridge  over  the 
Kankakee  river.  An  overland  trip  to  Joliet  was 
a  day's  journey,  the  first  stage  being  as  far 
as  Coon  Grove,  near  Goodenow,  the  second 
stage  the  Twelve-Mile  Grove,  (twelve  miles 
from  Joliet),  and  the  third  stage  the  Five- 
Mile  Grove.  This  was  the  route  in  dry  roads 
and  weather.    In  wet  times,  we  traveled  by 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  193 

the  way  of  Bourbonnais — the  first  stage  be- 
ing at  the  tavern  of  Uncle  Tommy  Durham, 
at  Bourbonnais,  and  the  next  at  Wilmington. 
During  the  sixties  we  were  greatly  both- 
ered by  horse  thieves.  We  organized  an  Anti- 
Horse  Thief  Association.  We  found  that  with- 
in a  short  time  fifteen  horses  had  been  stolen 
within  our  immediate  neighborhood.  A  nice 
span  of  grays  were  stolen  one  night  from  the 
barn  of  Zeno  Brayton.  I  was  delegated  to 
hunt  down  the  thief.  Enlisting  Hannibal 
Worcester,  we  drove  to  Crown  Point,  Ind., 
and  traced  the  thief  to  Chicago,  and  found 
him  and  the  horses  five  miles  west  of  Chicago. 
I  knew  the  team  as  soon  as  I  saw  them,  ar- 
rested the  thief,  sold  my  horse,  hitched  one 
of  the  grays  to  the  buggy  and  led  the  other. 
The  friends  at  Momence  knew  we  were  com- 
ing and  one  hundred  of  them  met  us  at  Tower 
Creek,  near  the  present  Lankow  farm,  two 
miles  west  of  Momence,  on  the  Kankakee  riv- 
er, and  wanted  to  hang  the  thief.  We  were 
bringing  him  to  Momence  for  trial  before  a 
justice-of-the-peace.  Russel  Seager  prevailed 
upon  the  crowd  not  to  hang  him,  and  they  de- 
sisted. We  brought  him  to  Momence  from 
whence  the  sheriff  took  hijm  to  Kankakee. 
Later,  he  was  indicted  and  made  his  escape 


194  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

from  jail.  We  received  from  this  thief  five 
horses  and  colts  belonging  to  Dick  Griswold, 
and  a  saddle  horse  belonging  to  John  Wickes. 
Our  trip  covered  a  period  of  four  days. 

I  attended  the  convention  at  Chicago 
that  nominated  Abraham  Lincoln  for  the  pres- 
idency;  was  too  poor  to  travel  to  hear  the  Lin- 
coln-Douglas debates.  I  heard  Stephen  A. 
Douglas  speak  at  the  Court  House  in  Kanka- 
kee, during  the  presidential  campaign.  Knew 
him  well.  I  was  born  and  brought  up  a  demo- 
crat, but  voted  the  Republican  ticket,  begin- 
ning with  President  Polk,  up  to  the  present 
time." 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  195 


THE  OLD  LOG  HOUSE 

This  log  house  was  built  by  Cornelius 
Cane  for  a  residence  in  1838,  and  was  located 
about  two  and  a  half  miles  north-east  of  Mo- 
mence.  The  first  election  held  in  the  county 
was  held  in  this  log  house  in  1840.  Mr.  Will- 
iam Nichols  was  elected  Squire.  John  Cane, 
son  of  Cornelius  Cane,  was  elected  constable, 
and  at  the  some  election  William  Henry  Har- 
rison, grandfather  of  Benjamin  Harrison, 
was  elected  president  of  the  United  States. 
The  campaign  procession  was  led  by  two  vio- 
lins, played  by  James  and  Nelson  Graham, 
brothers  of  Mrs.  Fred  Knighthart,  of  Mo- 
mence.  Thomas  Grimes  was  marshal  of  the 
day  on  the  Whig  side.  When  W.  W.  Parish 
came  to  Illinois,  he  boarded  with  Mr.  Cane, 
paying  $1.25  per  week  for  his  board.  They  had 
corn  dodger  six  days  in  the  week,  and  biscuits 
and  "chicken  fixin's"  on  Sunday.  Mr.  Cane  al- 
ways asked  the  same  blessing,  which  was  as 
follows:  "Oh,  Lord,  we  praise  thee  for  the 
present  refreshments;  pardon  our  sins,  give 
us  grace  and  wisdom,  that  we  may  have  the 
profits  we  gain  thereby,  for  Jesus'  sake — 
John,  pass  the  corn  dodger!" 


196  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


J  "or  r«,u   v.    J;du  , 

run  m'H<     i  !>  '  :J. 


OIISO.V  <U  J'.LH 

UKNIJV  n  BLOOM. 


J  \i'u)>.   t.M  1  Ki;>!>.\ 


3\\r  ■.       \  v . 


IK  A    W.  SMITH. 
PAL   I,    IJA'I  11 AU  U 

ROHC  2   i  OOPER 


T'uu^f?  i  '  <t :  m    i; 


KANKAKEE    COUNTY'S    FIRST 
BALLOT 

Kankakee  County  was  Organized  in 
1853.  The  Accompanying  Engraving 
Shows  the  First  Printed  Ballot  at  the 
First  Election  for  County  Officers, 
June  21,  1853.  The  Location  of  the 
County  Seat  was  Determined  at  This 
Election,  Momence  Being  Defeated  by 
"Kankakee  Depot,"  as  the  City  was 
Then  Known.  This  Ballot  was  Found 
Among  the  Effects  of  the  Late  Henry 
S.   Bloom. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  197 


MEMORIES  OF  THE  OLD  HILL  BRIDGE 

Mrs.  Argale  Nichols,  of  Kankakee,  still 
hale  and  hearty  at  ninety,  was  the  eldest 
daughter  of  James  Graham  who  came  with 
his  family  from  Indiana  to  the  neighborhood 
of  Momence,  in  the  year  1838.  The  pioneer 
home  of  the  Grahams  was  on  the  north  side 
of  the  Kankakee  river,  near  to  the  Chicago- 
Vincennes  Trail,  and  not  very  far  from  fam- 
ous Hill  Tavern  which,  however,  was  located 
on  the  south  bank  of  the  river.  Sometime  in 
the  early  forties,  it  may  have  been  1842,  the 
first  bridge  was  built  over  the  Kankakee,  on 
the  line  of  the  Chicago-Vincennes  Road,  near 
to  where  the  Hill  Tavern  was  located. 

She  was  a  girl  of  seven  or  eight  years  at 
the  time  and  her  chief  delight  was  to  sit  on 
the  bank  of  the  river  and  watch  the  efforts 
of  Bonnie  E.  Boardman,  as  he  scored  and 
hewed  and  framed  the  heavy  timbers.  Board- 
man,  she  says,  was  the  architect  and  chief 
workman  on  the  old  Hill  bridge.  The  ford  at 
this  point  on  the  trail  was  one  of  the  finest 
and  most  practical  on  the  river.  The  bed  of 
the  Kankakee  here  had  many  large,  flat 
stones,  disposed  so  that  the  road  was  fairly 


198  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

smooth.  In  the  very  early  days  this  was  a 
favorite  spot  for  the  Pottawattomi  to  come 
and  spear  fish.  During  those  early  days  of 
her  childhood,  she  says,  the  Kankakee  was 
literally  swarming  with  the  finest  fish,  and 
often  she  turned  her  attention  from  the  work- 
men scoring  timbers  to  the  river's  crystal 
flood  to  behold  the  hordes  of  bass,  pickerel, 
red-horse  and  sturgeon  moving  majestically 
head-on  against  the  stream.  Beaver  Lake  and 
the  Kankakee  swamps  to  the  north-east,  in 
that  day,  were  the  natural  hatcheries  for  fish. 
Such  another  natural  habitat  for  fish  and  wild 
fowl  as  the  swamp  region  of  the  Kankakee, 
was  never  surpassed  anywhere  in  the  United 
States. 

After  the  timbers  had  been  hewed  and 
framed,  the  word  was  sent  out  that  there  was 
to  be  a  "grand  raisin'."  Settlers  from  far  and 
near  responded  in  numbers  and  gave  liberal- 
ly of  their  time  and  labor.  Mr.  Peter  Strick- 
ler,  of  Iroquois,  who  died  recently  at  the  ripe 
age  of  95,  was  present  on  this  occasion  and 
helped.  It,  was  a  jolly  time,  enlivened  by  gen- 
erous feeds,  a  la  pioneer,  at  the  tavern.  Be- 
tween times  there  was  plenty  to  drink,  for 
whiskey  in  that  day  was  not  only  plentiful 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  199 

but  cheap.  One  could  buy  a  gallon  for  twen- 
ty-five cents. 

During  the  years  in  which  they  lived  on 
the  Chicago- Vincennes  Trail  many  were  the 
Indians  that  visited  them  during  the  early 
spring  and  summer.  The  squaws  had  strings 
of  beads  and  other  articles  of  bead  work, 
which  they  offered  for  sale  together  with  ar- 
ticles of  wearing  apparel  made  of  buckskin. 
Many  of  these  nomadic  visitors,  in  time,  be- 
came well  known  to  the  members  of  the  Gra- 
ham family,  enough  so  that  they  often  called 
.them  by  name.  They  were  friendly,  kindly, 
a  little  obtrusive  at  times  perhaps,  but,  on 
the  whole,  the  recollection,  after  all  these 
years,  reverts  to  them  with  feelings  of  gen- 
uine pleasure. 

Apples  and  other  fruits  raised  by  the  In- 
diana farmers  were  readily  obtained  by  the 
pioneer  families  living  on  the  Chicago-Vin- 
cennes  Trail,  for  this  was  the  great  highway 
over  which  much  of  this  produce  was  hauled. 
Mrs.  Nichols  recalls  that  her  mother  used  to 
pare  and  slice  quantities  of  apples  and  peaches 
and  then  string  them  on  a  tape.  Long  strings 
of  fruit  were  thus  prepared,  after  which  they 
were  festooned  about  the  house  to  undergo 
the  process  of  drying.  Large  quantities  of 


200  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

fruit  were  prepared  in  this  way.  The  only 
other  method  employed  was  preserving.  The 
idea  of  canned  fruit  as  we  have  it  in  this  day, 
had  not  been  evolved  at  that  time. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  201 

THE  "GOLL  DUMMED"  RAILROAD 

That  innovations  stuck  "hard"  in  the 
crop  of  the  average  pioneer  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  Grandfather  and  grandmother  William 
Nichols  who  established  the  well  known  Nich- 
ols home  north  of  Momence,  near  to  the  Chi- 
cago-Vincennes  Trail,  in  an  early  day,  re- 
garded with  considerable  suspicion  the  new- 
fangled ideas  of  civilization.  They  were  pion- 
eers bred  in  the  bone,  who  always  found  the 
old-time  methods  sufficient  unto  their  needs. 
It  is  related  of  them  that,  shortly  after  the 
building  of  the  C.  D.  &  V.  railroad,  now  the 
Chicago  &  Eastern  Illinois,  they  one  day  had 
occasion  to  cross  the  railroad  track  on  their 
way  to  visit  the  Grahams.  As  they  drew  near 
the  crossing  a  train,  consisting  of  several  an- 
tiquated coaches  drawn  by  a  wheezy,  wood- 
burning  engine,  happened  along. 

Their  pioneer  souls  were  thrilled  by  this 
most  unusual  sight  and  grandmother,  in  her 
excitement,  grabbed  grandfather  Nichols  by 
the  arm  with  one  hand  while  she  pointed  with 
the  other,  exclaiming  as  she  did  so,  "Why, 
dad  drat  it,  William,  there's  people  a  ridin'  in 
them  keers !"  After  the  train  had  passed,  they 
drove  cautiously  up  onto  the  rails  and  grand- 


202  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

pa  stopped  squarely  astride  of  them,  and 
watched  the  spectre  retreat  until  it  was  well 
out  of  sight. 

At  the  Grahams  that  clay,  grandpa  and 
grandma's  unusual  experience  with  the  cars 
was  easily  the  main  topic  of  conversation. 
This  experience  may  have  been  enlarged  upon 
somewhat  in  the  course  of  narration  but,  if 
so,  they  simply  made  use  of  a  privilege  which 
the  world  concedes  to  all  who  tell  of  startling 
things  first  hand.  The  railroad  with  its 
"keers,"  easily  held  th6  center  of  the  stage 
that  afternoon,  and  the  terrible  ravages  of 
the  dreaded  "milk-sick,"  over  in  the  Exline 
wroods,  was  not  mentioned  once. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  203 

OLD-TIME  TALES 

SELLING  A  COON  TRACK 

In  the  days  of  1840,  when  "Uncle  Bill" 
Parish  came  to  Momence,  the  Pottawattomi 
were  still  found  in  numbers  occupying  tepees 
in  the  woods  along  the  Kankakee.  Chiefly 
they  were  of  the  band  of  White  Pigeon,  inter- 
mingled with  those  who  at  one  time,  acknowl- 
edged the  chieftainship  of  "Pierre  Moran," 
a  Frenchman  who  was  a  chief  by  reason  of 
having  married  the  daughter  of  a  chief.  This 
story  told  of  "Uncle  Bill,"  illustrates  his  well 
known  speculative  instinct.  In  that  primitive 
day  of  the  pioneer  the  fur-bsaring  animals  of 
the  woods  were  sought  industriously  by  every- 
body— Indian  and  white  man  alike.  One  day 
in  the  winter  while  traversing  the  woods  east 
of  town,  Mr.  Parish  ran  across  the  trail  of 
a  coon  in  the  snow.  He  followed  it  for  some 
distance  until  finally  it  terminated  at  a  hol- 
low tree.  Almost  simultaneously  there  ap- 
peared a  Pottawattomie  Indian  in  quest  of 
game.  "Uncle  Bill"  was  a  quick  thinker.  Point- 
ing to  the  tracks  of  the  coon  in  the  snow  he 
remarked:  "I  sell  'em  for  one  dollar,"  at  the 
same  time  holding  up  a  finger  significantly. 


204  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Much  to  his  surprise  the  Indian  replied: 
"You're  on,"  at  least  it  meant  that  in  effect, 
for  he  handed  over  a  dollar.  Thus  in  undis- 
puted possession  of  the  property,  the  Indian 
went  after  it  and,  by  the  time  he  had  finished 
the  job,  he  had  taken  out  four  fine  coons. 
Four  coon  hides  at  the  trader's  brought  "one 
plus,"  which  was  the  equivalent  of  two  dol- 
lars, to  say  nothing  of  the  meat.  Mr.  Parish 
said  that  Indian  did  so  well  on  that  deal  that 
he  did  not  work  again  for  a  month. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  205 


"UNCLE  MARK"  ATHERTON  AND  THE 
TRAPPERS 

In  1851  Marcus  A.  Atherton  came  to  Mo- 
mence.  As  a  youth  he  was  employed  by  F.  M. 
Tompkins,  who  carried  on  a  small  tin  shop 
in  the  near  vicinity  of  the  present  tannery  on 
River  street.  His  very  first  piece  of  work 
was  that  of  the  spouting  and  guttering  for 
the  Strunk  mansion  which  still  lingers  amid 
shadows  of  giant  elms  on  the  bank  of  the 
south  branch  on  the  island,  a  ghost  of  old  days, 
grim  and  gray,  unchanged  since  the  days 
when  Atherton  worked  on  it.  In  1853  Mr. 
Atherton  engaged  in  a  general  mercantile  bus- 
iness which  he  operated  for  many  years.  As 
a  merchant  he  was  distinctly  typical  of  old 
times  and  new. 

In  the  old  days  of  the  early  fifties  in  and 
about  Momence,  the  hunter  and  trapper  was 
a  more  important  element  in  the  trade  of  the 
backwoods  store  than  the  farmer,  although 
this  condition  gradually  changed  as  time  went 
on  and  the  country  developed  from  frontier 
to  the  civilization  of  today.  The  river  stretches 
of  the  Kankakee  and  the  contiguous  marshes 
afforded  an  ideal  field  for  the  operations 
of  the  trapper  who  sought  the  smaller  fur- 


206  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

bearing  animals.  Coon,  mink,  skunk,  fox  and 
musk-rat  pelts  constituted,  in  a  very  great 
measure,  the  currency  of  the  border  among 
the  hardy,  picturesque  trapper  types  who  fre- 
quented the  place. 

They  were,  as  a  rule,  a  happy-go-lucky 
improvident  lot,  whose  shacks  out  in  the  tim- 
ber on  the  river  were  generally  bare  of  lux- 
uries, yet  whose  owners  lived  on  the  fat  of  the 
land,  nevertheless.  Life's  philosophy  was  sum- 
med up  in  the  terse  statement:  "There  will 
alwrays  be  a  river;  there  will  always  be  tim- 
ber; there  will  always  be  game  to  trap;  al- 
ways a  little  "corn  liquor  to  drink,  and  a  little 
terbacker  to  smoke !"  What  more  did  a  man  of 
the  border  want?  Why  worry  about  a  fu- 
ture so  full  of  promise? 

"Uncle  Mark"  Atherton  stood  "ace  high" 
as  the  saying  goes,  with  this  primitive  clien- 
tele of  the  river  and  the  woods.  For  years 
he  furnished  them  their  supplies  when  the 
trapping  season  was  on,  extending  credit  until 
such  a  time  when  the  season's  catch  was 
brought  in.  He  was  a  fair  man,  a  square  man, 
who  never  held  out  the  least  iota  in  the  weight 
of  the  bacon,  corn  meal,  sugar  and  tea  that 
went  over  his  scale.  The  story  is  told  of  one 
man  to  whom  "Uncle  Mark"  extended  credit, 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  207 

who  particularly  insisted  that  he  was  "to 
take  the  varmint  pelts  as  they  run."  "That's 
all  right,  said  "Uncle  Mark"  accommodating- 
ly., "I'll  take  'em  as  they  run." 

The  fall  and  winter  passed  and,  one  af- 
ter, another,  the  trappers  to  whom  credit  had 
been  given  dropped  in  and  squared  up,  all 
but  this  particular  individual.  "Uncle  Mark" 
met  him  one  day  and  called  his  attention  to  the 
fact  that  his  "credit"  was  overdue.  "But  you 
agreed  to  take  them  pelts  as  they  run,"  said 
the  debtor.  "Of  course  I  did,"  replied  Mr.  Ath- 
erton,  "what's  that  got  to  do  with  the  delay 
in  paying?"  "Oh,  nothin',  "drawled  the  trap- 
per, who  was  something  of  a  wag,  "only 
they're  still  a-runnin'." 

For  the  space  of  a  minute  or  more  "Uncle 
Mark"  was  swamped  with  righteous  indigna- 
tion, and  then  the  humor  of  the  situation  bore 
in  upon  him  and  he  laughed.  "That's  a  hoss 
on  me,"  he  acknowledged;  "tell  you  what  I'll 
do,  though ;  I'll  give  you  credit  on  exactly  the 
same  terms,  only  I'll  close  the  back  door  of  the 
store  and  leave  the  front  door  open — you 
agreein'  to  shoo  them  pelts  into  the  place  'as 
they  run.'  "  The  incident  caused-much  amuse- 
ment among  the  men  of  the  border  populace 
and   cost   "Uncle   Mark"  many  and  many  a 


208  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

drink  of  "corn  whiskey,"  until  it  seemed  as 
though  the  "bar'l"  in  the  back  end  of  the  store 
was  in  danger  of  giving  out  entirely  under 
the  long  continued  strain.  The  tenacity  with 
which  the  frontier  memory  clung  to  this  in- 
cident of  the  border  was  little  short  of  mar- 
velous. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  209 


"NIGGER  DOC" 

Among  the  many  well  known  characters 
who,  at  one  time  or  another,  figured  in  the 
early-day  population  of  Momence,  was  "Nig- 
ger Doc."  How  he  came  by  the  unique  title 
of  "Doc,"  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant 
is  at  a  loss  to  account  for.  He  was  a  power- 
ful negro,  jet  black,  of  amiable  disposition 
generally  whose  one  great  weakness  was  liqu- 
or. He  was  the  butt  of  many  a  good  natured 
joke  and  sally  of  wit — in  short  rather  indis- 
pensable to  that  class  of  loungers  who  amused 
themselves  at  the  expense  of  somebody  else. 
Colonel  Zeno  Brayton,  a  popular  early  day 
business  man  of  Momence,  one  day  gave 
"Nigger  Doc"  a  broad-brimmed  black  felt  hat 
he  had  discarded.  "Doc"  was  delighted  with 
the  gift.  He  made  himself  conspicuous  with 
the  new  lid  and  never  missed  an  opportunity 
to  make  known  to  the  various  ones  he  met 
that  "Kunnel  Zeno  Brayton  dun  gave  it  to 
him."  "Doc"  was  standing  one  day  before  the 
bar  of  the  old  saloon  that  used  to  stand  on 
the  west  side  of  Range  street  all  set  to  offer 
a  libation  to  the  god  of  fortune,  the  libation 
in  this  case  being  nothing  less  than  a  generous 
beer-mug  filled  to  the  brim  with  gin  and  about 


210  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

whose  top  "Doc's  fingers  closed  that  not  one 
precious  drop  of  the  fluid  might  be  lost,  when 
Cal  Hayes,  a  Momence  blacksmith,  sidled  in. 
Hayes,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  had 
conceived  a  violent  dislike  for  the  black  race 
and  for  "Nigger  Doc"  in  particular.  He  had 
made  open  threats  on  various  occasions 
"that  he  was  a  going  to  get  Nigger  Doc,  and 
get  him  good."  On  this  occasion  as  Hayes  be- 
held "Doc"  draining  the  gin  from  the  beer- 
mug  his  hand  sought  his  coat  pocket  and 
brought  forth  an  old  bandana  handkerchief, 
in  the  corner  of  which  he  had  tied  a  stone 
about  the  size  of  a  hen's  egg.  With  this  for- 
midable implement  he  blazed  away  blindly  at 
the  negro's  head.  The  blow  was  a  terrific  one 
but,  aside  from  the  momentary  surprise  of 
the  attack,  apparently  did  not  feaze  "Nigger 
Doc"  for  an  instant.  The  assailant  made  for 
the  back  door  of  the  saloon  with  the  negro  in 
pursuit.  The  back  yard  of  this  saloon  was 
surrounded  by  a  high  board  fence,  forming  a 
sort  of  bull-pen,  where  many  a  bout  of  fisti- 
cuffs and  boxing  had  been  pulled  off  in  the 
past.  Hayes,  more  agile  than  his  pursuer, 
scrambled  up  and  over  the  barricade  like  a  cat 
and  made  his  escape.  "Doc"  sauntered  back 
into  the  saloon  and,  taking  off  the  precious 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  211 

hat,  showed  the  crowd  a  hole  in  the  side  of  it 
made  by  the  stone  in  the  sling.  High  up  on 
his  head  was  a  huge  welt  from  which  the 
blood  trickled  in  a  stream  and,  as  he  looked 
upon  the  hat,  sorrowfully  he  ruminated :  " Jes' 
look  at  dat  beau'ful  hat  dat  Kunnel  Zeno 
Brayton  dun  give  me — plum  ruined  by  dat 
no-'eount  Cal  Hayes." 


212  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

JOE  BARBEE,  OF  INDIAN  GARDEN 

Like  the  opening  of  a  door  long  unused — 
like  the  shifting  of  a  window  shade  that  has 
long  been  closely  drawn — like  a  sudden  gleam 
of  sunshine  revealing  the  treasures  within, 
so,  suddenly,  there  came  to  Mrs.  Argale  Nich- 
ols, she  who  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  that 
pioneer  settler  at  the  "Upper  Crossing," 
James  Graham,  recollections  of  an  unique  In- 
dian character  of  her  childhood  days  on  the 
Kankakee,  eighty  years  ago.  Mrs.  Nichols  re- 
calls perfectly  that  this  Indian  had  a  white 
man's  name.  He  was  known  as  Joe  Barbee 
and  his  home  was  located  above  the  Parmlee 
place  on  the  Kankakee  river.  He  was  not  an 
out  and  out  Pottawattomie,  but  a  half  breed, 
whose  dash  of  white  blood  was  noticeable  not 
so  much  in  his  physical  appearance  as  in  that 
peculiar  bent  of  mind  which  led  him  to  observe 
cleanliness,  to  speak  English  fluently,  and 
to  follow  more  or  less  successfully  the  occu- 
pations of  the  white  man. 

Joe  Barbee's  place  on  the  river  was  known 
far  and  wide  among  the  pioneer  settlers  as 
"Indian  Garden."  It  was  a  well  kept  spot  ad- 
joining Dan  Parmlee's  famous  "Garden  of 
Eden,"  wherein  vegetables  were  grown,  as 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  213 

well  as  a  limited  variety  of  fruits,  such  as  ap- 
ples, peaches,  grapes  and  blackberries,  which 
Joe  attended  to  assiduously,  thereby  deriving 
great  pleasure.  Joe  Barbee,  the  "working 
Indian,"  was  the  object  of  quiet  speculation 
on  the  part  of  the  people  of  the  countryside 
and,  as  may  be  readily  supposed,  the  subject 
of  many  an  animated  discussion.  That  he  was 
a  freak  was  the  general  consensus  of  opinion, 
as  much  of  a  freak  as  the  "white  robin,"  whose 
appearance  now  and  then  is  solemnly  affirmed 
by  the  naturalist. 

Joe  Barbee's  family  consisted  of  a  squaw 
and  two  daughters.  They  were  essentially  In- 
dian in  appearance.  Their  features  were  set 
in  the  grim,  unyielding  stoicism  so  character- 
istic of  the  race.  They  never  did  smile,  says 
Mrs.  Nichols,  although  Joe  Barbee,  the  fath- 
er of  the  girls,  contrary  to  all  the  traditions 
of  the  Indian,  would  now  and  then  flash  a  most 
engaging  smile.  The  family  frequently  vis- 
ited the  Graham  home  at  the  "Upper  Cross- 
ing" on  the  Hubbard'  Trace.  Joe  generally 
had  quantities  of  fruit  contained  in  neat  wil- 
low baskets,  while  the  women  offered  for  sale 
articles  of  buckskin,  ornamented  after  the  ab- 
original manner  with  beads.  Invariably  the 
women  of  Joe's  household  wore  blankets  of 


214  *    TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

white  which  were  ornamented  with  broad 
bands  of  brilliant,  dazzling  red.  But  that  thing 
which  distinguished  them  as  something  sep- 
arate and  apart  from  the  Pottawattomi  In 
general,  was  the  fact  that  the  blankets  were 
CLEAN !  Apparently  the  white  trace  prevail- 
ed to  just  that  extent. 

Joe  Barbee's  efforts  and  achievements  in 
the  horticultural  line  would  constitute  a  most 
interesting  chapter  in  the  lore  of  the  old  days 
in  and  about  Momence  if  we  but  knew  of  them. 
We  do  know  however,  that  his  efforts  were 
not  confined  wholly  to  "Indian  Garden/*  but 
extended  to  an  island  in  the  Kankakee  river 
above  Shelby,  Indiana,  where  he  set  out,  in  an 
early  day,  an  excellent  variety  of  grapes.  The 
island  was  subsequently  called  "Grape  Island" 
and  by  that  name  it  is  known  today.  Long  af- 
ter Joe  Barbee  had  gone,  the  settlers  on  the 
Kankakee  knew  of  the  excellence  of  the  grapes 
of  this  particular  island,  and  many  and  fanci- 
ful were  the  tales  that  were  spun  regarding 
their  origin  there.  The  late  Stephen  R.  Moore, 
on  various  occasions,  called  our  attention  to 
Grape  Island,  insisting  that  the  seeds  of  the 
species  then  extant  were  dropped  by  the  early- 
day  French  explorers  who  navigated  the  wat- 
ers of  the  Kankakee.     The  theory  is  plans- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  215 

ible  enough  and  Judge  Moore  may  have  been 
right  in  his  assumption.  But  Joe  Barbee, 
"the  working  Indian,"  half  white,  half  Indian, 
was  a  wizard  with  roots,  shoots  and  scions, 
some  of  which  he  planted  in  the  soil  of  Grape 
Island  where  for  years  they  continued  to 
thrive  and  bear. 

The  story  is  recalled  by  Mr.  James  Kirby 
of  the  day  when  chief  White  Pigeon  and  his 
band  left  the  Kankakee  in  charge  of  govern- 
ment agents  for  their  new  home  west  of  the 
Mississippi,  near  Council  Bluffs,  Iowa.  "Uncle 
Sid"  Vail  and  White  Pigeon  were  very  friend- 
ly and,  as  an  evidence  of  appreciation  of  the 
friendship  existing  between  them,  invited  the 
chief  to  his  home,  there  to  partake  of  dinner. 
White  Pigeon,  on  this  occasion,  occupied  the 
place  of  honor  on  the  right  of  his  host.  He 
wore  a  towering  crest  of  eagle  feathers  and 
further  honored  the  event  by  wearing  his  best 
blanket.  During  the  progress  of  the  meal 
while  "Uncle  Sid"  was  voicing  his  regret  that 
their  friendly  relations  were  so  soon  to  ter- 
minate, the  old  chief  suddenly  encountered 
some  item  in  the  menu  of  which  his  taste  did 
not  quite  approve.  Quite  unceremoniously 
and  with  a^  little  hesitation  as  he  would  have 
shown  had  he  been  at  home  in  his  own  tepee, 


216  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

he  spat  the  offending  morsel  into  his  hand 
and  tossed  it  carelessly  under  the  table,  some- 
what to  the  surprise  of  the  host  and  the  great 
discomfort  of  the  hostess.  White  Pigeon  was 
a  man  of  few  words  and,  while  it  is  true  that 
he  was  an  imitator  of  the  white  man  in  many 
unimportant  respects,  his  table  manners  could 
have  been  improved  upon,  at  least  so  thought 
Mrs.  Vail.  Just  what  the  aboriginal  palate 
balked  at  in  this  case  is  a  mystery,  unsolved 
even  unto  this  day. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  217 

A  PLAGUE  OF  FROGS 

Who  is  there  who  has  lived  in  Momence 
or  nearby,  who  does  not  recall  as  having 
known  at  some  time  in  his  life  big,  fat,  easy- 
going Ralph  Day  and  his  estimable  spouse, 
Susie?  Not  a  one,  we  dare  say.  One  couldn't 
help  but  know  Ralph  Day,  and  knowing  him, 
one  couldn't  help  but  like  him.  And  Susie? 
She  was  a  hustling,  bustling,  ministering  spir- 
it of  goodness  and  self-sacrifice  among  the  in- 
habitants of  the  old  river  town  of  Momence  for 
years,  a  never-failing  angel  of  mercy  and  help- 
fulness at  such  times  when  help  was  most 
needed.  They  were  a  rare  couple  were  Ralph 
Day  and  Susie,  whose  little  eccentricities  of 
thought  and  speech  and  action  endeared  them 
all  the  more  to  people  of  the  little  river  settle- 
ment on  the  Kankakee.  While  this  story  con- 
cerns more  particularly  Ralph  Day  himself, 
any  mention  of  him  which  failed  to  include 
the  sharer  of  his  joys  and  sorrows,  would  be 
regarded  as  an  unpardonable  omission. 

Ralph  Day  was  a  large,  fleshy  man  who 
weighed,  according  to  best  reports,  near  to 
three  hundred  pounds.  He  was  a  jovial,  good 
natured  man,  thus  again  sustaining  the  tra- 
dition of  geniality  ascribed  to  men  of  avoir- 


218  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

dupois  generally.  He  lived  on  the  corner  di- 
rectly opposite  the  Charles  Astle  home,  west. 
He  used  to  attend  to  the  work  about  the  Cen- 
tral House  bar  and,  during  the  extreme  hot 
weather  of  late  June  and  July  and  August, 
he  would  walk  down  to  the  river  at  such  times 
when  the  north  branch  was  not  too  high,  and 
wade  in  to  where  the  water  came  to  about  his 
waist,  then  topple  over  on  his  back  and  float — 
yes,  float  like  a  cork  on  the  surface  of  the 
stream.  Thus  borne  by  the  current  he  would 
float  down  opposite  his  home,  several  blocks 
away,  regain  his  footing  and  walk  out.  He 
always  deplored  the  fact  that  there  was  no 
way  of  floating  upstream  successfully,  and 
the  patrons  of  the  Central  House  bar  used 
to  "rag"  him  considerably  about  it. 

There  was  one  year  when  the  frogs  ap- 
peared in  such  numbers  along  the  Kankakee 
as  to  set  the  "old-timers"  all  agog.  None  of 
them  could  recall  a  similar  phenomenon  in 
all  the  river's  history.  These  frogs  were  so 
numerous  in  places  that  it  was  possible  to  lit- 
erally shovel  them.  Ralph,  one  day,  burst  in- 
to the  bar-room  breathless  with  excitement 
and  exclaimed :  "There's  ten  million  frogs  on 
the  river  between  my  house  and  the  head  of 
the  island !"  You  oughta  hear  'em — its  a  regu- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  219 

lar  frog  camp-meetin'."  Charley  Brassard,  he 
who  was  familiarly  known  as  "Bluch,"  was 
sitting  in  an  arm-chair  with  his  feet  comfort- 
ably disposed  on  the  sill  of  one  of  the  front 
windows.  He  looked  up  as  Day  made  the  state- 
ment and  remarked:  "Say,  Ralph,  old  kid, 
you're  crazy.  There  ain't  that  many  frogs  in 
the  world,  pos-i-tively." 

"Yes  they  is,  Bluch,"  persisted  Ralph, 
"and  I  ain't  crazy,  neither !" 

"Yes  you  are,"  insisted  Bluch,  "you're 
crazier'n  a  bat.  You  talk  like  a  child.  There 
ain't  a  million  frogs  on  the  whole  river  and  I 
got  twenty  dollars  that  says  so." 

"Well,  anyhow,  I  may  be  crazy,  but  I  ain't 
no  damn  fool ;  and  I'll  jes'  go  you  twenty  that 
I  kin  get  ten  thousand  of  them  by  tomorrer 
mornin',"  replied  Ralph  defiantly. 

"I  gotya,"  said  Bluch;  "put  up  and  get 
out  and  hustle  them  frogs.  And  don't  forget, 
I'll  be  lookin'  for  you !" 

Fred  Knighthart  was  appealed  to  by 
Ralph  to  put  up  the  money  and,  as  he  handed 
it  over,  the  act  was  accompanied  by  a  little  ad- 
vice on  the  side,  gratis,  as  follows:  "Ralph, 
you'd  better  apologize  to  Bluch  and  ask  his 
pardon,  and  save  the  twenty."  But  Day  had 
his  fighting  blood  aroused.  "What!  Me  'polo- 


220  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

gize  to  him?  I  will  like  'el!  Lissen  to  me — 
Gettin'  them  ten  thousand  frogs  is  jest  as 
easy  as  stealin'  corn  from  a  blind  sow !  I  know 
what  I'm  doin',"  said  he  ominously,  whereat 
everybody  roared. 

This  novel  bet  was  the  talk  of  the  place 
for  the  remainder  of  the  day  and  a  good  bit 
of  the  night,  and  many  of  Ralph's  friends  who 
had  laughed  at  the  incident,  secretly  resolved 
to  be  on  hand  on  the  morrow  and  witness 
the  outcome.  The  following  morning  Bluch 
Brassard,  calm  and  imperturable,  occupied  his 
accustomed  place  by  the  window.  He,  of  all 
the  assembled  throng,  seemed  least  interested 
in  the  affair  as  he  sat  there  gazing  through 
the  narrow  slit  in  the  wall  that  looked  out 
upon  Range  street,  now  the  "Dixie."  And  the 
crowd  waited  in  pleasurable  anticipation  of  "a 
scene,"  at  such  a  time  as  Ralph  did  appear. 
There  was  going  to  be  some  fun,  frogs  or  no 
frogs. 

It  was  nearing  ten  o'clock  that  morning 
when  Ralph  Day  appeared.  He  drove  a  horse 
hitched  to  the  shafts  of  a  light  wagon.  There 
was  a  barrel  in  the  wagon  with  a  gunny-sack 
spread  over  its  top,  which  hardly  sufficed  to 
muffle  the  mighty  anvil  chorus  chant  of  its 
occupants.    There  was  a  disquieting  gritting 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  221 

of  "frog's  teeth"  that  made  the  cold  chills  gal- 
lop up  and  down  Bluch  Brassard's  back.  Ralph 
Day's  rotund  face  shone  like  a  full  harvest 
moon.  There  was  victory  written  all  over  it. 
He  had  hardly  stopped  in  front  of  the  hotel 
when  he  roared :  "Here's  yer  swamp  canaries, 
Bluch,  ol'  man ;  come  and  get  'em !"  But  Bluch 
never  moved.  "How  do  I  know  you've  got  ten 
thousand  of  'em  there?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Count  'em,  count  'em, — you  kin  count 
can't  yuh?" 

And  then  for  a  moment  Ralph  Day,  in 
answer  to  numerous  inquiries  from  those 
gathered  about  the  wagon,  explained  radiant- 
ly that  "there  was  just  oodles  upon  oodles  of 
frogs  on  the  river — more'n  ten  hundred  mil- 
lion of  'em — shoveled  'em  up  in  the  early 
mornin' — could  have  got  a  million  as  easy  as 
ten  thousand,  barrin'  the  shovelin'."  During 
this  animated  recital  Bluch  Brassard  never 
batted  an  eye.  "Want  me  to  set  'em  in  yer  lap 
so's  you  kin  count  'em  handy?  interrogated 
Ralph. 

"Take  'em  away,"  said  Bluch  curtly;  "you 
win !" 

"Ain't  yuh  goin'  t'  look  at  'em,  Bluch," 
persisted  Ralph,  "after  I've  gone  to  all  this 
trouble?    The  bar'l  is  mor'n  half  full!  Lord 


222  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Amighty,  they's  never  been  a  bunch  of  frogs 
like  this  in  town  before — not  since  them  saw- 
mill frogs  used  to  come  from  up-river  and  take 
over  the  town!  Goin'  to  take  the  word  of  a 
crazy  man  that  they's  ten  thousand  of  'em, 
eh?" 

But  Bluch  only  murmured:  "Take  'em 
away!  Take  'em  away!"  Then,  turning  his 
head  in  the  direction  of  the  bar,  he  met  the 
questioning  gaze  of  the  bar-tender  squarely 
and,  by  an  almost  imperceptible  nod,  flashed 
a  message  which,  liberally  interpreted,  read: 
"Give  Day  the  money  and  give  the  boys  what- 
ever they  like,  as  often  as  they  like,  and  put 
the  whole  thing  on  one  check." 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  223 

MAFFETT  TELLS  A  "TALL  ONE" 

Imagination,  cleverness  and  ready  wit 
are  qualities  that  have  inured  to  the  more  for- 
tunate of  mankind  in  all  walks  of  life,  ever 
since  the  world  began.  These  qualities  are 
variously  employed  according  to  the  inclina- 
tion and  temperament  of  the  individual.  To 
illustrate — Charles  Maff  ett,  an  early-day  resi- 
dent of  Kankakee  County  living  between  Kan- 
kakee and  Momence,  was  widely  recognized 
as  a  teller  of  stories  which  were  interesting, 
clever,  amusing,  "gripping,"  in  addition  to 
being  well  told.  Maffett  could  tell  a  "tall  one" 
in  a  most  convincing  way.  They  were  lies — 
but  harmless  lies — in  the  main.  Maffett's 
stories  always  "went  over  big,"  and  many  a 
bucolic  youth,  after  having  heard  him  tell  one, 
charged  his  memory  with  the  subject  matter 
and  later  sought  the  glory  of  the  limelight  by 
repeating  it  as  a  product  of  his  own.  Charles 
Maffett  was  a  large  man  weighing  right 
around  two  hundred  and  seventy-five  pounds. 
He  had  a  pink  and  white  complexion  and  was 
rotund  to  the  point  of  obesity.  He  was  a  slow, 
deliberate  speaker,  and  rarely  ever  forgot 
himself  so  far  as  to  laugh  at  one  of  his  own 
stories,  which  is  evidence  indisputable  of  the 
finished  artist 


224  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

The  story  which  he  sprung  on  "Uncle  Bill" 
Parish,  of  Momence,  is  still  designated  among 
the  old-timers  as  a  "Maffett  Masterpiece." 
They  met  one  day  on  the  road  to  Momence,  ex- 
changed greetings  as  they  passed  when,  all  at 
once,  "Uncle  Bill"  pulled  up  his  horses  and 
called  out:  "Say,  Maffett — tell  me  the  biggest 
lie  you  ever  heard  tell  of!" 

Maffett  thus  appealed  to,  stopped  his 
team  and  replied  somewhat  hurriedly :  " You'll 
have  to  excuse  me  this  morning  Bill.  Really, 
I'm  in  an  awful  hurry.  You  know,  old  Elias 
Garrett  dropped  dead  last  night,  and  I've  been 
up  all  night  helpin'  around,  and  I'm  on  my  way 
to  Deerson's  now  to  get  a  coffin  for  him.  Good 
Mornin' — giddap,"  and  he  clucked  to  his  team. 
He  kept  on  his  way  deaf  to  all  importunities 
of  "Uncle  Bill"  who  sought  to  gain  full  par- 
ticulars concerning  the  demise  of  his  neigh- 
bor, Garrett.  "Uncle  Bill"  was  shocked,  taken 
off  his  feet  completely  by  the  startling 
news.  He  hurried  home  and  told  his  wife  who 
hurriedly  patted  her  hair,  slipped  on  her  bon- 
net, and  together  the  two  set  out  for  the  Gar- 
rett home,  sad  of  heart,  appalled  at  the  sud- 
denness with  which  death  strikes.  As  they 
approached  the  Garrett  residence  they  looked 
for  some  outward  sign  of  the  visitation  of  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  225 

dread  reaper.  There  was  none.  Judged  from 
outside  appearances  it  was  a  perfectly  normal 
country  household.  There  was  no  one  moving 
about — inside  or  out — no  teams  hitched  to  the 
hitching  posts,  not  a  single  saddle-horse  vis- 
ible, at  which  they  marveled  somewhat.  Quiet- 
ly they  drove  into  the  yard ;  slowly,  and  with 
as  little  show  of  unbecoming  haste  as  possible, 
they  alighted  from  the  vehicle  and  made  their 
way  slowly  towards  the  house  when,  sudden- 
ly, from  the  direction  of  the  barnyard,  they 
were  accosted  by  a  hearty,  cheerful  "Halloo 
there,  folks — good  mornm'  to  you!" 

It  was  the  corpse  himself,  hale,  hearty 
and  smiling  who  strode  up  to  them  and  extend- 
ed his  hand  in  a  greeting  which  would  have 
shamed  the  most  able-bodied  ghost  that  ever 
was.  Ma  Parish  was  speechless,  dumbfound- 
ed, utterly  undone.  "Uncle  Bill"  was  nervous, 
squeamish,  decidedly  upset  at  this  unexpected 
denouement.  Like  a  flash  it  came  to  him 
how  he  had  been  victimized  by  the  wiley  Maff- 
ett  who,  at  his  earnest  solicitation,  had  ob- 
ligingly responded  with  "the  biggest  lie"  that 
anybody  ever  heard  tell  of. 

Mrs.  Parish  looked  at  Elias  Garrett  and 
then  at  her  husband  with  questioning  eyes, 
and  he,  like  a  good  sport,  who  finds  it  neces- 


226  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

sary  at  times  to  lay  his  cards  face-up  on  the 
table,  told  the  story  of  his  meeting  with  Maff- 
ett,  and  that  he  had  been  the  innocent  dupe 
of  his  craftiness.  There  was  a  big  laugh  all 
around  and,  apparently,  "the  corpse"  enjoyed 
the  situation  much  more  than  did  "Uncle  Bill" 
judging  from  the  noise  he  made.  As  they  were 
about  to  leave,  Mr.  Garrett  remarked :  "Now, 
look  here,  Bill,  when  I  do  kick  off  for  sure,  I'm 
going  to  have  word  of  it  carried  to  you  by 
somebody  else  'sides  Maffett,  for  I  am  fearful 
you  would  not  believe  him  under  any  circum- 
stances now."  And  at  that  Mrs.  Parish  look- 
ed upon  her  husband  pityingly  and  was  moved 
to  say:  "William,  I  sometimes  doubt  the  wis- 
dom of  my  letting  youj  go  all  alone  out  on  the 
road  and  over  to  Momence  among  those  awful 
men.  You  are  so  simple,  so  trusting,  so  gull- 
ible— there's  no  telling  where  we  may  be  trap- 
seing  to  next!" 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  227 


THE  ELDERS  CLUB 

A  good  many  years  back  in  the  history  of 
Momence,  there  was  a  select  and  distinguished 
coterie  made  up  of  the  older  men  of  the  little 
community  who,  in  order  to  relieve  the  tedium 
of  hours  not  too  fully  occupied  with  the  weigh- 
ty affairs  of  life,  organized  a  Club  where  they 
gathered  daily  and  smoked,  and  spun  yarns, 
and  enjoyed  themselves  and  each  other  gener- 
ally. Here  all  weighty  questions  of  public  or 
personal  portent  were  discussed  and  threshed 
out  and  finally  disposed  of.  Here,  too,  it  of- 
ten happened  that  they  wooed  the  Goddess  of 
chance  and  fortune,  that  particular  deity 
which  is  said  to  preside  over  the  destinies  of 
the  game  known  as  "Poker."  The  way  these 
old  boys  camped  on  the  trail  of  this  particu- 
lar Goddess  was  something  little  short  of 
scandalous.  If  ever  there  was  an  overworked 
Goddess,  this  titular  deity  of  fortune  that 
hung  about  the  outskirts  of  the  Club  was  it. 
You  would  be  shocked  if  we  were  to  spill  the 
names  of  these  old-time  boys !  It  would  make 
the  goose-flesh  stand  out  all  over  you !  In  or- 
der to  avoid  an  epidemic  of  "goose-flesh,!" 
however,  we  have,  on  second  thought,  decided 
not  to  tell.    We  merely  allude  to  them  as  "the 


228      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Elders/'  hence,  you  may  speculate  to  your 
heart's  content. 

There  were  times  when  these  old  boys 
would  sit  all  day  and  until  far  into  the  night 
around  the  big  table,  when  the  game  ran 
strong  and  the  spirit  of  man  waxed  stubborn 
and  unyielding  and  he  sought  the  out  of  doors 
only  after  he  had  "been  mopped  up  clean." 
Among  the  company  of  elders  was  a  suave, 
mild-mannered  type  of  man,  of  whom  it  is 
said  that  often  he  would  run  amuck  with  noth- 
ing more  than  a  pair  of  deuces.  After  throw- 
ing a  scare  into  the  company,  he  would  quiet- 
ly gather  in  his  cards  and  slip  them  into  the 
deck  and  when  importuned  to  tell  just  what  he 
held,  replied  invariably  in  a  voice  that  was 
melody  itself,  "no  man  knoweth  unto  this 
day!" 

There  is  a  tradition  that  once,  from  the 
neighboring  city  of  Kankakee,  there  came  a 
trio  of  artists  with  "the  spots,"  who  sought 
the  seclusion  of  this  very  club  and  did  then 
and  there  stake  their  worldly  goods  against 
those  of  the  elders  of  Momence.  It  was  some 
tussle!  For  five  days  and  nights  they  "sat," 
this  youthful  trio  from  Kankakee  and  the  eld- 
ers of  Momence.  Meals  were  brought  in, 
drinks  and  smokes  likewise,  and  the  unceas- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  229 

ing  battle  of  the  wits  and  the  cards  went  on. 
Youth  is  buoyed  up  with  confidence,  exotic, 
luxuriant ;  old  age  fortifies  itself  with  caution 
and  experience !  In  the  end  caution  and  exper- 
ience prevailed.  The  elders  of  Momence  prais- 
ed the  work  of  the  youthful  trio  from  Kan- 
kakee, bought  them  tickets  via  the  railroad 
and  sent  them  home  to  their  folks  with  the 
parting  assurance  that  they  would  be  glad  to 
see  them  any  time  when  they  happened  to  be 
"in  that  neck  o'  the  woods." 

We  have  been  told  on  the  "quiet"  that 
Hoag  was  sent  for  with  his  dray  to  move  the 
coin  from  the  Club  over  to  the  bank,  so  great 
was  the  haul  of  treasure.  In  the  interim,  while 
the  elders  were  recovering  from  the  effects  of 
this  protracted  session,  it  happened  that,  one 
day,  one  of  them  drew  from  his  pocket,  a  hand- 
ful of  loaf  sugar  squares  which  he  distributed 
to  those  who  sat  about  the  big  circular  table. 
He  then  propounded  this  novel  scheme: 

"Every  fellow  chips  a  quarter  of  a  dollar 
into  the  "pot."  Place  your  cube  of  sugar  on 
the  table  before  you  and  watch  it  closely !  The 
fellow  on  whose  square  of  sugar  a  fly  lights 
first  takes  the  "pot!"  The  new  idea  was  a 
"hit"  right  from  the  start,  and  the  lowly,  pes- 
tiferous fly,  heretofore  banned  and  shunned 


230  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


by  mankind  generally  was  acclaimed  with  joy- 
ous shouts  in  this  stronghold  of  the  elders.  No 
where  else  in  the  world  would  this  pastime 
of  the  "sugar  and  the  fly"  been  thought  of 
and  adopted  so  spontaneously. 

Some  years  ago  Momence  had  a  rather 
nifty  base  ball  club  whose  work  was  the  pride 
of  the  town.  Many  and  many  a  time  they 
brought  home  the  bacon  after  a  hard,  and 
gruelling  struggle.  The  elders  were  "for 
them"  and  risked  their  piasters  on  them  and 
increased  their  store  thereby  many  fold.  On 
one  occasion  when  the  club  went  to  Watseka, 
Illinois,  for  a  game,  several  of  the  elders  went 
with  them.  They  took  the  members  of  the 
club  to  the  Iroquois  House  for  dinner.  When 
the  elders  elected  to  do  anything,  they  did  it 
right.  The  day  was  exceedingly  hot  and  the 
elders,  with  their  coats  off,  led  the  way  to  the 
dining  room.  Greatly  to  their  surprise  they 
were  confronted  by  the  head  waiter,  who  in- 
formed them  that  they  could  not  be  permitted 
to  sit  down  at  the  tables  unless  they  put  on 
their  coats.  The  boys  put  theirs  on  but  the 
elders  were  obdurate — they'd  be  eternally 
damned  if  they  would.  The  situation  was  em- 
barrassing. The  waiter  was  obliging  and  of- 
fered  to  rustle  a  linen    duster  or  two,  as  a 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  231 

means  of  getting  around  the  difficulty.  But, 
already  the  spirit  of  American  independence 
had  boiled  over  and  the  fat  was  in  the  fire. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  said  one,  "we'll  go  over 
to  Uncle  Bill  William's  tavern,  by  gad." 

And  at  that,  the  contingent,  twelve  to  fif- 
teen strong,  headed  out  of  the  Iroquois  House 
onto  the  T.  P.  &  W.  track  and  hoofed  it  two 
full  blocks  away  to  the  Williams  House.  The 
old  Williams  House  had  a  reputation  second  to 
none  in  its  day,  and  Uncle  Bill,  as  a  Boniface, 
was  never  surpassed  for  genuine  quality  in 
old  days  or  new.  He  was  a  pioneer  of  pion- 
eers who  ranged  his  own  dining  room  in  shirt 
sleeves  and  with  his  trousers  stuffed  into  the 
tops  of  his  cowhide  boots.  The  only  conces- 
sion he  ever  made  to  fastidious  public  senti- 
ment was  when,  on  passing  through  the  room 
where  his  guests  were  seated  at  their  meal,  he 
seized  the  top  of  his  hati  with  a  firm  grip  and 
slid  it  over  to  an  angle  of  about  thirty-two  de- 
grees, as  if  to  say  "this  much  I  do  and  no 
more !"  Here  our  friends  were  genuinely  wel- 
comed and  were  permitted  to  appear  in  hot 
weather  negligee,  and  no  questions  asked.  And 
as  the  elders  dallied  with  their  meal,  between 
bites  they  chuckled  raucously  and  delightedly 


232  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


at  the  discomfiture  of  the  head  waiter  at  the 
Iroquois,  who  was  so  insistent  on  clothes  at 
a  time  when  clothes  were  a  positive  burden. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  233 


CHARLES  MAFFETT'S  WOODEN  STOVE 

Sometime  during  the  sixties  there  appear- 
ed one  day  at  East  avenue  and  Court  Street, 
in  the  City  of  Kankakee,  where  the  Legris 
Brothel  bank  now  is,  a  man  with  a  curious 
creation  in  the  way  of  a  stove  with  a  wooden 
jacket.  The  stove  was  thus  displayed  that  the 
public  might  give  it  "the  up  and  down"  and 
"the  once  over,"  and  at  the  same  time  learn  of 
its  manifold  advantages  as  set  forth  by  its 
owner  and  manufacturer,  Mr.  Charles  Maff- 
ett,  Esq.  The  very  novelty  of  the  thing  en- 
listed public  interest  in  a  day  when  stoves 
lacked,  generally,  much  of  the  perfection  at- 
tained in  this  day.  A  day  or  so  later,  Charles 
Maffett  himself,  appeared  with  the  new  in- 
vention on  the  streets  of  Momence.  Mr.  A. 
B.  Jenkins,  now  of  Morocco,  Indiana,  as  a  boy, 
recalls  the  incident  and  Maffett's  slogan,  viz : 
"A  pound  of  hay  will  feed  ten  men !"  The 
stove  was  viewed  by  hundreds  of  people,  some 
few  of  whom  doubtfully  acknowledged  that 
it  had  merit,  while  the  greater  number  look- 
ed upon  the  maple-wood  box,  said  to  be  a  stove, 
as  the  product  of  a  brain  seized  with  a  mild 
and  harmless  dementia. 


234  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

The  truth  is,  the  originator  of  this  stove, 
an  old  man  and  a  floater  whom  Maffett  had 
taken  pity  on  and  given  asylum  in  his  own 
home,  instead  of  being  demented  was,  in  re- 
ality, so  far  in  advance  of  his  time  that  he 
had  the  idea  of  the  "fireless  cooker"  all  but 
perfected.  This  product  of  the  old  inventor's 
brain  was,  after  all,  merely  a  wooden  box 
supplied  with  an  inner  compartment  or  doub- 
le lining  of  tin  of  sufficient  capacity  to  hold 
a  gallon  or  so  of  water.  This  water  was  pre- 
viously heated  and  poured  into  the  compart- 
ment and,  in  order  that  the  water  might  be 
kept  hot,  there  was  provided  at  one  side,  a 
small  fire-box  where  a  fire  of  chips  could  be 
kept  going.  We  are  told  that  this  device,  pop- 
ularly dubbed  "the  wooden  stove,"  cooked 
many  articles  popular  in  the  culinary  economy 
of  that  day  and  did  it  beautifully.  Appar- 
ently there  was  no  question  as  to  the  excel- 
lence of  the  products  turned  out  by  the  wood- 
en stove,  but,  for  all  that,  the  purchasing  pub- 
lic of  Kankakee  and  Momence  was  wary  and 
cautious  to  a  degree  that  rendered  its  sales  al- 
most nil. 

A  few,  however,  more  courageous  than 
the  rest,  bought  stoves  and  used  them  success- 
fully.   We  wish  it  were  possible  to  give  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  235 

reader  some  sort  of  description  of  this  early- 
day  innovation  in  stoves.  Unfortunately 
there  is  no  cut  or  picture  of  it  extant.  Mr. 
Charles  Sherman  and  the  late  John  Plum- 
mer,  both  old-time  residents  of  Kankakee,  re- 
call perfectly  the  advent  of  Maffett's  wooden 
stove,  each  witnessed  public  demonstrations 
of  it,  but  neither  could  recall  its  structure 
other  than  that  it  was  a  box-like  affair  sup- 
plied with  a  water  compartment  of  tin.  The 
thermos  bottle  and  the  fireless  cooker  are  in- 
dispensable adjuncts  of  almost  every  home  in 
this  day  of  the  twentieth  century.  The  late 
Elbert  Hubbard,  speaking  of  the  scientific  de- 
velopments of  the  century  which  have  con- 
tributed most  to  the  comfort  and  pleasure  of 
living,  reckons  the  development  of  the  ther- 
mos principle  as  among  the  greatest. 

How  strange  that  an  old  man,  homeless, 
friendless,  wandering  up  and  down  the  world 
without  a  dollar,  should  have  touched,  in  his 
peripatetic  exile,  upon  an  idea  so  pregnant 
with  possibilities!  Strange,  indeed,  that  his 
idea  of  half  a  century  ago,  should  have  ap- 
proximated in  its  important  details,  the  fire- 
less  cooker  of  today.  Strange,  too,  was  the 
insistent  idea  of  the  inventor,  when  seeking 


236  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

for  a  name  for  this  new  creation,  to  call  it  a 
stove.  The  public  of  that  day  could  not  recon- 
cile the  idea  of  a  stove  that  was  worth  while, 
with  a  mere  box  of  wood  lined  with  tin.  Stoves, 
as  the  public  regarded  them,  were  constructed 
of  iron  and  never  of  wood.  This  stove  of  Maf- 
fett's  therefore,  lacked  in  the  elements  of 
successful  construction.  Ideas  are  stubborn 
things  and  hard  to  combat.  Though  the  pro- 
ducts of  the  wooden  stove  were  excellent  be- 
yond any  question,  still,  the  public  had  its 
doubts ;  at  all  events  it  was  unconvinced,  and 
such  as  were 

" convinced    against   their   will, 

were   of  the   same   opinion   still!" 

Messrs.  Mateer  &  Scovill  who,  at  that 
time,  operated  the  Kankakee  planing  mill, 
were  deeply  interested  in  this  novel  invention, 
and,  after  having  made  numerous  experiments 
with  it,  entered  into  negotations  with  Maffett 
for  the  right  to  manufacture  and  sell  the  stove. 
It  is  said  that  they  secured  the  rights  to  sell 
the  same  in  the  state  of  California.  This  stove 
was  supplied  with  a  high-sounding,  flamboy- 
ant title  which,  unfortunately,  did  not  long 
survive  and  is  therefore  lost  to  us  in  this  day. 
The  venture  of  Messrs.  Mateer  &  Scovill,  sad 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  237 

to  say,  did  not  prove  a  success,  largely  for  the 
reason  that  Californians  were  just  as  skepti- 
cal, bone-headed  and  perverse  as  the  "Suck- 
ers" of  Illinois.  Apparently,  all  this  invention 
needed  to  put  it  over,  was  an  up-to-date  dem- 
onstrator and  advertising  man  of  the  twen- 
tieth century  type. 


238  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

KANKAKEE  COUNTY'S  FIRST  SCHOOL 
TEACHER 

Kankakee  county's  first  school  teacher 
was  an  energetic,  vivacious  little  Miss  of  tend- 
er years,  comparatively,  who  accompanied  the 
families  of  A.  S.  Vail  and  Orson  Beebe  to  the 
banks  of  the  Kankakee  in  the  year  1836.  She 
was  Miss  Lorain  Beebe,  sister  of  Orson  Bee- 
be  and  Mrs.  A.  S.  Vail.  While  the  others  set 
themselves  to  the  task  of  building  a  home  in 
the  virgin  wilderness,  Miss  Beebe  helped  her 
sister  keep  house  and  devoted  part  of  her  time 
to  teaching  school.  This  first  school  was  held 
in  a  room  of  Asher  Sargeant's  cabin,  the  first 
human  habitation  built  on  the  site  of  Mo- 
mence,  and  was  opened  in  the  winter  of  1837. 
This  first  school  teacher  in  the  first  school  in 
Kankakee  county,  had  two  pupils.  They  were 
the  children  of  Asher  Sargeant,  who  thus 
shares  honors  with  Miss  Beebe  in  the  matter 
of  inaugurating  education  in  the  wilderness 
in  that  he  furnished  the  school  house  and  the 
pupils.  This  first  attempt  at  school  teaching 
was  subject  to  interruptions  on  account  of 
the  weather.  She  taught  only  three  hours  a 
day  and  only  on  such  days  when  she  was 
enabled  to  cross  the  Kankakee  on  the  ice.  The 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  239 

school  curriculum  of  that  day  embraced  only 
the  "three  ITs,"  and  they  were  enough.  The 
pioneer  mothers  of  that  day  saw  to  it  that 
their  daughters  were  brought  up  to  a  course  of 
domestic  science,  right  in  the  home,  under 
their  own  eye  and  tutorship. 

The  following  year,  in  1838,  Miss  Beebe 
went  to  "Upper  Crossing,"  one  mile  above  the 
present  city  of  Momence,  and  there  taught 
school  in  a  room  of  the  William  Lacy  log  cab- 
in, built  there  in  1833,  the  first  habitation  on 
the  Kankakee  in  eastern  Illinois.  Here  were 
located  the  Grahams,  the  Nichols,  the  Hills, 
the  Dutchers  and  others  with  families  of 
small  children  sufficiently  numerous  to  make 
a  school  of  creditable  proportions.  Miss  Beebe 
lived  on  the  south  side  of  the  river  and  the 
school  house  was  situated  on  the  north  side. 
She  daily  ferried  herself  across  the  river  and 
back  and  at  the  same  time  took  the  small 
children  of  the  south  side  with  her,  over  and 
back  again  at  the  close  of  school.  At  this 
time,  seventy-eight  years  ago,  there  still  re- 
mained a  village  or  two  of  the  Pottawattomi 
in  the  near  neighborhood  of  "The  Crossing." 
They  mingled  on  terms  of  friendly  intimacy 
with  the  settlers,  these  children  of  the  forest, 
who,  though,  possessed  of  a  keen,  childish  cur- 


240  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

iosity,  were  silent  and  uncommunicative.  Of- 
ten the  orderly  decorum  of  the  school  room 
was  disturbed  for  a  half -hour  at  a  time  when  a 
prowling  Indian  would  take  it  into  his  head 
to  make  them  a  visit  unannounced.  Sometimes 
he  would  take  up  his  station  outside  the  door. 
More  often  he  would  appear  at  one  of  the 
windows  and  peer  stolidly  into  the  room,  his 
features  set  and  immobile,  unflinching  and 
apparently  unconcerned  although  the  eyes  of 
teacher  and  pupils  were  focused  upon  him.  It 
was  useless  to  speak,  for  our  primitive  friends 
who  thus  thought  well  enough  of  civilization 
to  call  now  and  then,  were  deaf  to  all  question- 
ing and  dumb  to  a  hopeless  degree  when  it 
came  to  giving  expression  to  their  thoughts. 
Miss  Beebe's  righteous  indignation  was 
early  aroused  at  the  manner  with  which  the 
white  man  plied  the  savage  appetite  with  liq- 
uor. There  was  the  case  of  "White  Pigeon," 
a  local  Pottawattomie  chief  who  was  a  royal 
good  fellow  when  sober,  but  a  raging  demon 
when  loaded  with  liquor,  despite  the  pacific 
quality  suggested  by  the  title  "White  Pigeon." 
She  one  day  sought  Joe  Barbee,  a  half-breed, 
who  often  served  the  little  pioneer  commun- 
ity of  Momence  and  along  the  river  as  media- 
tor and  minister  extraordinary  at  such  times 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  241 

when  the  Pottawattomi,  encamped  along  the 
river,  imbibed  too  freely  of  liquor.  He  was 
quite  a  diplomat  and  his  persuasive  arts  were 
often  employed,  and  with  good  effect,  in  quiet- 
ing an  Indian  surcharged  with  vile  liquor. 
Miss  Beebe  remembered  that  often  when 
"White  Pigeon"  went  on  a  "High  Lonesome," 
Joe  Barbee,  of  Indian  Garden,  was  sent  for 
post-haste  to  stay  with  him  until  he  sobered 
up.  She  met  up  with  Joe  one  day  and  charged 
him  with  this  unusual  message:  "Joe,  I  want 
you  to  tell  White  Pigeon  for  me,  the  very  next 
time  you  see  him,  that  he  is  not  to  drink  any 
more  liquor !  Now,  don't  you  fail  me !  Be  sure 
and  tell  him." 

Several  days  later,  when  she  chanced  to 
meet  Joe  Barbee  again,  she  asked  if  he  had 
delivered  her  message. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  what  did  he  say,"  she  asked,  rather 
impatiently. 

"Well,  when  I  told  him  he  said:  'White 
man  make  um,  Indian  drink  um !  White  man 
no  make  um,  Indian  no  drink  um !" 

Miss  Beebe,  school  teacher  though  she 
was,  pondered  long  and  thoughtfully  over  this 
message  which  was  the  essence  of  courtesy, 
directness  and  brevity.     But  the  more  she 


242  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

pondered  it  the  more  clearly  she  realized  that 
White  Pigeon,  by  one  brief  stroke,  had  closed 
the  "booze"  question  as  between  the  two  for 
all  time. 

In  1839  Lorain  Beebe  taught  school  in  the 
Beebetown  settlement  on  the  Kankakee.  In 
the  year  1840  she  went  down  on  the  Iroquois 
river  to  the .  settlement  known  as  "Bunkum," 
in  Iroquois  county.  It  was  while  teaching 
there  that  she  met  Dr.  David  Lynds,  whom  she 
afterwards  married.  They  made  their  home 
on  a  farm  on  the  south  side  of  the  Kankakee 
near  "Upper  Crossing,"  where  the  Tiffany 
Brick  Works  are  located  today.  There  were 
other  honors  that  fell  to  the  lot  of  Lorain 
Beebe  Lynds  other  than  that  of  being  the  first 
school  teacher.  When  Uncle  Sid  Vail  finally 
landed  a  postoffice  at  his  tavern  at  the  settle- 
ment a  name  for  the  office  became  a  para- 
mount necessity.  He  named  it  "Lorain,"  after 
his  niece.  Uncle  Sid  Vail  was  a  whig  in  pol- 
itics and  Dr.  Lynds  was  a  democrat.  Con- 
gressman "Long  John"  Wentworth,  of 
Chicago,  was  also  a  democrat  who  admired 
Vail  personally,  but  damned  his  politics.  As 
a  matter  of  good  political  strategy  he  deposed 
Vail  as  postmaster  and  gave  the  job  to  Dr. 
Lynds.    Lynds  moved  the  office  to  his  place 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  243 

near  the  "Crossing"  and  naturally  retained  the 
name  of  "Lorain"  as  bestowed  by  Mr.  Vail, 
since  the  lady  had  become  his  wife.  Lorain 
Beebe  Lynds  was  not  only  the  first  school 
teacher,  but  the  first  postmistress  on  the  Kan- 
kakee in  eastern  Kankakee  county,  at  that 
time  known  as  Will.  The  first  official  cog- 
nomen Momence  ever  enjoyed  was  that  of 
"Lorain."  With  the  passing  of  the  postoffice, 
so  passed  the  name  to  another  field,  to  super- 
cede for  all  time  the  varied  titles  by  which  the 
upper  ford  had  been  known  for  a  generation — 
"Upper  Crossing,"  "Hill's  Ford"  and  "West- 
port."  The  place  has  vanished  but  the  name 
remains — the  name  of  "Lorain." 

From  the  days  of  Lorain  Beebe's  first  ef- 
forts at  teaching  school  on  up  to  1850,  efforts 
had  been  put  forth  by  the  settlers  to  effect 
some  kind  of  an  organization.  In  the  late 
forties  John  Strunk,  the  miller,  and  William 
Chatfield  were  serving  as  school  directors. 
The  early  part  of  the  day  summer  school  in 
1850  was  taught  by  a  Miss  Marks,  who  after- 
wards became  the  wife  of  Dr.  Lane.  She  had 
some  trouble  with  the  pupils  before  the  expi- 
ration of  the  term,  and  the  directors  hired 
Miss  C.  A.  Curtis,  sister  of  Elon  and  Leroy 
Curtis,  to  close  the  term.    Jas.  Bennett,  who 


244  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

had  come  to  the  country  that  year,  was  en- 
gaged to  teach  the  winter  term.  There  was  a 
squabble  over  the  propriety  of  scripture  read- 
ing in  the  school  which  came  near  preventing 
his  appearance  as  teacher  in  this  school.  So, 
you  see,  this  question  was  a  serious  one  as  far 
back  as  seventy-five  years  ago.  The  school 
room  was  about  16x20,  seats  were  made  of 
puncheon  slabs,  flat  side  up,  with  holes  bored 
in  the  corners  for  the  wooden  legs,  and  one 
desk  was  made  of  boards  wherein  were  stored 
the  written  copies,  etc.  The  pens  used  in  the 
school  were  made  of  goose  quills  by  the  mas- 
ter. Among  the  pupils  in  attendance  at  this 
school  were:  B.  F.  Gray,  Helen,  William  and 
Mary  Strunk,  James,  Martha  and  Jane  Chat- 
field,  Lewis,  Fred  and  Amelia  Clark,  Harden 
and  Martha  Vail,  and  many  others  from  the 
families  of  the  VanKirks,  Grahams,  Edwards, 
Fenders,  Chamberlains,  Motts,  etc.  This 
school  in  1850-1  is  said  to  have  had  about  fifty 
pupils. 

Lorain  Beebe  Lynds,  the  pioneer  blazer  of 
educational  trails  in  Kankakee  county,  lived 
to  see  the  primitive  log  cabin  of  one  room  give 
way  to  a  stately  edifice  of  stone  and  brick, 
the  city  high  school,  where  hundreds  of  the 
city's  youth  are  daily  taught  by  an  efficient 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  245 

corps  of  instructors.  She  lived  to  see  the 
development  of  a  land  and  a  people  whose 
chief  bulwark  is  education,  on  which  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  dollars  are  spent.  When, 
later  on,  the  city  of  Momence  built  another 
school  building,  this  time  on  the  south  side  of 
the  river  and  near  the  old  home  of  Mrs. 
Lynds,  it  was  given  the  name  of  "The  Lorain 
School,"  in  honor  of  a  well-loved  citizen  thus 
distinguished  as  Kankakee  county's  first 
school  teacher.  She  lived  to  be  ninety-three 
years  old,  retaining  her  brightness  of  mind 
and  keenness  of  intellect — a  frail  human  link 
which  a  breath  might  dissolve — that  for  so 
long  bound  the  yesterday  of  the  "border"  with 
the  luxurious  era  of  today. 


246  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


PIERRE   BRASSARD 

This  Ancient  Tin-Type  is  the  Only  Like- 
ness Now  Remaining  of  a  well  known  Hunt- 
er, Trapper  and  All-Around  Frontiersman 
of  Momence.  Pierre  Brassard  Was  a 
Canadian,  One  of  the  Finest  Shots  in  the 
Whole  Lake  Region.  He  Was  Born  to  the 
"Buckskin"  of  the  Frontier  and  the  Life 
of  the  Out  of  Doors.  He  knew  the  Kanka- 
kee and  the  Great  Marsh  Region,  and  was 
Often  Employed  as  a  Guide. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE 


247 


TWO  PIONEER  CRONIES 

Pierre  Brassard,  several  of  whose  sons 
are  prominently  identified  with  the  business 


FRANK  LONGPRE 
He  was  Brassard's  Hunting  Part- 
ner Whose  Specialty  was  Imitating 
the  "Honk"  of  a  Goose.  Old-Timers 
say  of  Frank  Longpre  That  he  Could 
Make  a  Goose  Get  Down  Among  the 
Rushes  and  Hunt  for  Him. 

interests  of  Momence  today,  and  Frank  Long- 
pre were  hunting  partners  years  and  years 
ago  when  the  great  marsh  country  east  of 
Momence  was  in  its  prime.  Pierre  Brassard 
died  many  years  ago,  but  Frank  Longpre  sur- 
vived and  passed  on  only  recently  at  the  ripe 


248  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

age  of  ninety.  To  begin  with,  there  was  a 
racial  bond  which  held  them  firmly  for  both 
were  Canadians,  and  both  had  the  Canadians' 
inborn  instinct  for  the  out  of  doors,  the  open 
trails  and  the  flyways  of  the  feathered  hosts 
of  the  upper  air.  Both  were  at  home  either 
in  the  "blind"  or  beside  the  wilderness  camp- 
fire.  Each  had  confidence  in  the  other  born 
of  many  a  campaign  together  on  the  upper 
reaches  of  the  Kankakee  or  in  the  Beaver  Lake 
country  of  eastern  Indiana. 

In  time  they  became  indispensable  to  one 
another.  No  one  ever  surpassed  Pierre  Bras- 
sard with  the  shot-gun.  He  was  an  artist — 
a  master  in  the  art  of  shooting.  No  one  ever 
equalled  Frank  Longpre  in  the  art  of  calling 
geese  in  the  days  before  the  mechanical 
"squawker"  was  devised.  In  this  he  was  a 
past-master.  Frank  Longpre's  voice,  like  John 
McCormick's,  was  his  fortune  and,  in  some  re- 
spects, showed  more  cultivation  than  did  that 
of  McCormick.  To  Pierre  Brassard,  out  on 
the  flyway,  it  "was  the  sweetest  story  ever 
told,"  when  Frank  Longpre  was  "going  good." 
Working  thus  together,  they  made  unusual 
bags  of  game. 

The  story  is  still  told  of  them  that  one 
day  while  returning  from  the  region  of  Beaver 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  249 

Lake  with  a  load  of  game  they  had  killed,  they 
noticed,  as  they  drew  near  the  river,  numbers 
of  ducks  and  geese  circling  over  an  open- 
water  space  which  appeared  in  the  river's 
frozen  surface.  The  air  was  black  with  geese 
and,  although  they  had  a  load,  their  hunter's 
blood  thrilled  at  the  prospect.  They  stationed 
themselves  by  the  river  and  Frank  Longpre 
began  to  "honk."  Swiftly  the  game  began  to 
circle  to  the  lure,  and  as  fast  as  they  came 
within  range,  Pierre  Brassard  dropped  them. 
It  was  little  better  than  slaughter,  but  such 
an  opportunity  was  not  to  be  passed  by.  An 
hour  passed  at  this  point  and  they  had  gath- 
ered in  so  many  geese  that  they  were  non- 
plussed as  to  what  disposition  to  make  of 
them,  for  their  light  wagon  was  so  loaded  that 
not  another  carcass  could  be  made  to  stick  on. 
Pierre  Brassard  finally  hit  upon  a  scheme. 

"Francois,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Longpre,  "wat 
you  say — we  hang  'em  up  on  de  limb  of  de 
tree,  and  den  we  come  back  tomorrow  and  get 
dem,  hey?"  So  the  geese  were  hung  up  in  the 
trees  along  the  river  bank  according  to 
Pierre's  suggestion,  hung  by  their  legs  high 
up  where  the  prowlers  of  the  forest  could  not 
get  at  them.  And  when  they  had  finished  the 
job,  they  beheld  with  satisfaction  in  this  out 


250  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

door  cold  storage  the  forms  of  one  hundred 
and  thirty-five  black  Canadian  geese !  As  they 
resumed  their  journey  towards  Momence, 
presently  Pierre  Brassard  began  to  chuckle. 
"Hey,  Francois !  By  Jack !  I  tell  you  wot  we 
do  wit  de  boys  on  de  ville;  we  will  mak  de 
grand  bet  dat  we  get  de  mos'  geese  tomorrow 
— we  bet  our  jack-knives  against  theirs — an 
all  we  have  to  do  is  jes'  pick  de  geese  off  de 
roos'  on  de  limb!"  And  he  dug  his  compan- 
ion in  the  ribs  with  his  elbow  and  the  two 
laughed  long  and  heartily,  these  two  old  boys 
of  the  wilderness,  who  thus  conspired  quietly 
and  "put  up  a  job"  on  the  rest  of  the  hunting 
fraternity. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  251 

AROMA  TOWN'S  "BEST  MAN" 

Gus  Wiley,  who  built  the  first  white  man's 
habitation  in  the  timber  on  the  Kankakee  at 
Aroma,  and  who,  some  years  later,  in  com- 
pany with  Alvin  Wilbur,  laid  out  the  townsite 
of  Aroma  in  1852,  was  a  character.  His  peo- 
ple, when  he  was  born,  unthinkingly  imposed 
a  burden  on  the  name  of  Wiley  by  naming 
him  Augustus  M.  The  fates  decreed,  how- 
ever, that  in  the  pioneer  community  in  which 
he  lived,  he  was  to  be  known  as  "Gus,"  and 
also  as  "Aroma's  Best  Man."  The  "Best  Man" 
of  the  pioneer  days  was  he  who  was  rated  as 
being  able  to  lick  his  weight  in  wild-cats,  and 
successfully  uphold  the  dignity  and  reputation 
of  the  community  against  attack  from  inter- 
lopers from  the  outside.  Wiley  was  not  only 
a  good  shot  with  the  old  flint-lock  rifle,  but 
he  was  a  terror  with  his  fists.  He  was  a  con- 
sistent and  satisfactory  performer  in  the  mat- 
ter of  a  rough  and  tumble,  such  as  was  the 
vogue  in  the  days  of  the  border.  We  digress 
from  the  lines  of  the  story  long  enough  to  say 
that  the  Pacifist  is  distinctly  a  twentieth  cen- 
tury product.  He  is  the  product  of  our  latter- 
day  prosperity — the  more  or  less  pampered 
child  of  fortune — reared    in  luxurious  ease. 


252 


TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


MR.  MARTIN  VANDERKARR 

Mr.  VanDerKarr  is  a  Pioneer  of 
Aroma  Township,  Hale  and  Hearty  and 
Active  at  Ninety.  He  Left  "The  Loop" 
in  Chicago  in  the  Early  Forties  to  go 
Somewhere  and  Grow  Vegetables  and  be 
out  of  the  Water.  For  Years  he  Raised 
Cucumbers  for  the  Seed  at  the  Instance 
of  Vaughn,  the  "Seed  Man,"  of  Chicago. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  253 

The  red  blood  of  pioneer  days  has  been  so 
watered,  so  diluted  and  thinned  apparently, 
that  the  iron  of  the  old  days  has  gone  out  of  it 
entirely.  Such  a  deterioration  of  the  race 
made  possible  the  winning  slogan  of  a  presi- 
dential candidate  not  so  long  ago — "He  kept 
us  out  of  war !" 

Wiley  was  a  terror  and  a  bear-cat  but  not 
of  the  swashbuckling,  insinuating,  overbear- 
ing type.  He  had  to  be  stepped  on  first  but, 
whenever  that  happened,  the  response  was  in- 
stantaneous, magnificent.  In  the  days  of  the 
old  frontier,  men  stood  four-square  on  their 
rights,  their  honor  and  their  reputation,  more 
especially  if  "that  reputation"  credited  them 
with  being  "the  best  man"  in  the  township.  A 
story  illustrating  the  spirit  of  the  age,  is  told 
of  grandfather  Isaac  Legg,  who  came  from 
Putnam  county,  Indiana,  to  Chicago  in  1833, 
and  who  moved  from  there  to  Aroma  township 
sometime  in  the  late  thirties.  He  was  on  his 
way  to  town  one  day  on  horseback,  while  still 
residing  in  Putnam  county,  Indiana,  when  he 
chanced  to  fall  in  with  a  stranger.  They  rode 
along  together  and  talked  of  many  things, 
when  the  stranger  chanced  to  let  drop  the 
statement  that  he  was  "the  best  man"  in  his 
community.    Grandfather  Legg  lost  no  time 


254  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

in  letting  the  stranger  know  that  he  was  the 
"Best  Man"  in  his  bailiwick,  and  then  and 
there  the  two  slipped  from  their  horses  and 
went  at  it.  Grandfather  Legg  succeeded  in  put- 
ting it  over  on  his  adversary  in  this  instance, 
after  which  they  remounted  their  horses  and 
proceeded  on  their  way. 

Mr.  Martin  Van  DerKarr  relates  a  story 
of  Gus  Wiley  in  his  palmy  days.  On  one  occa- 
sion, while  in  Kankakee,  Wiley  was  partaking 
of  an  oyster  stew  in  a  restaurant,  when  a 
Frenchman,  from  Bourbonnais,  somewhat  the 
worse  for  liquor,  walked  into  the  place  and  in- 
quired, in  a  loud  voice:  "Is  dat  bully  from 
'Roma,  wat  dey  call  Wiley,  on  dis  place?" 
Wiley  was  "on  dat  place,"  and  so  informed 
him,  at  the?  same  time  asking  what  he  wanted 
of  him.  "Sacre,  I  show  you  who  is  de  bes' 
man!  I  am  de  bully  from  Bour-bon-nay,  by 
gar!"  Wiley  explained  briefly  but  quietly 
that}  he  was,  at  that  moment,  trying  to  get  all 
the  pleasure  and  satisfaction  possible  out  of 
his  oyster  stew ;  that  he  would  be  through  in  a 
moment,  and  if  the  "Bully  from  Bour-bon- 
nay"  would  not  intrude  his  presence  but  kind- 
ly wait  for  him  on  the  outside,  he  would  be 
glad  to  accommodate  him.  And  then  he  added 
significantly :  "A  bowl  of  oysters  costs  twenty- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  255 

five  cents,  and  I  like  'em  hot.  The  pleasure  of 
lickin'  you  won't  cost  a  damn  cent!" 

"The  Bully  from  Bour-bon-nay"  was  not 
to  be  put  off.  He  became  increasingly  bois- 
terous and  finally  insisted  that  Wiley  did  not 
dare  to  come  outside.  Seizing  a  favorable  op- 
portunity, Wiley  rose  suddenly  from  the  table 
at  which  he  was  sitting,  grabbed  the  bully  by 
the  scruff  of  the  neck  with  his  left  hand, 
while  his  right  sought  a  death-grip  on  the  seat 
of  his  trousers.  "The  Bully  from  Bour-bon- 
nay"  cut  a  ludicrous  figure  thus  propelled 
from  the  rear  by  Wiley's  giant  frame. 
Straight  towards  the  open  door  they  headed, 
and,  as  the  Frenchman  went  through,  the  ve- 
locity of  a  body  falling  in  space  was  aug- 
mented, at  least  on  the  start,  by  a  terrific  kick, 
which  landed  full  and  fair.  "Now,"  said 
Wiley,  "you  set  down  and  be  ca'm.  If  there's 
anybuddy  you'd  like  to  bid  good-by,  you'd  bet- 
ter do  that,  too ;  I'll  have  them  oysters  licked 
up  in  jist  a  minute."  Wiley  returned  to  the 
table  and  resumed  the  interrupted  meal.  When 
he  had  finished,  he  paid  for  it,  and  then  leis- 
urely betook  himself  to  the  outside. 

In  the  meantime,  the  Bully  from  Bour- 
bon-nay, whether  from  the  effects  of  a  partial 
sobering  up  or  a  brief  interval  spent  in  serious 


256  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

reflection,  was  not  nearly  so  anxious  to  anni- 
hilate the  Bully  from  'Roma  as  he  had  been. 
Rather,  he  desired  him  as  an  ally — a  friend. 
He  made  a  proper  apology  to  Wiley  for  dis- 
turbing him  while  at  his  meal  in  the  restau- 
rant, acknowledged  that,  as  a  bully,  he  had  no 
business  with  "the  Bully  from  "Roma,"  and,  as 
evidence  that  the  amende  honorable  on  his 
part  was  genuine  and  sincere,  invited  him  to 
go  across  the  street  to  a  "hard  liquor  palace" 
and  seal  the  friendly  covenant  with  a  drink. 

There  was  a  saloon  in  that  day  on  Court 
Street  where  the  Fina  building  now  is,  and 
thither  they  made  their  way.  Not  one  but 
many  drinks  were  partaken  of  during  the  so- 
journ of  the  party  there,  and  under  the  stimu- 
lus of  the  liquor  the  Frenchman's  drooping 
courage  revived  and  again  became  formid- 
able. However,  there  was  this  difference  in 
his  attitude  towards  Wiley ;  instead  of  want- 
ing to  fight  him,  Wiley  had  become  his  especial 
protege  whose  reputation  was  as  sacred  a 
thing  as  his  own.  He  had  suddenly  switched 
from  antagonist  to  protector.  Turning  to  the 
mixed  crowd  in  the  saloon,  he  screamed  at  the 
top  of  his  voice:  "Hey,  you  mushrats!  Dis  ees 
ma  fren,  Monsieur  Wiley;  'es  de  Bully  from 
'Roma!    Me?    Fm  de  Bully  from  Bour-bon- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  257 

nay!  Anyone  wat  lay  one  1-e-e-tle  finger  on 
him — saere  battan — 'es  get  hees  eyes  scratch 
out,  so !"  And  suiting  the  action  to  the  word, 
his  face  was  contorted  in  an  awful  grimace, 
and  the  extended  arms  and  hooked  fingers 
were  truly  suggestive  of  the  cruel  claws  of  the 
wild-cat. 

And  that  was  as  near  as  the  Bullies  of 
'Roma  and  Bour-bon-nay  ever  came  to  a  mix- 
up. 

Mr.  William  Spence,  a  Kankakee  resident 
who  knew  Wiley  well,  recalls  that  on  one  other 
occasion  Wiley  was  sought  by  a  neighborhood 
bully,  "a  youth  to  fortune,  and  to  fame  un- 
known," whose  only  claim  to  a  niche  in  the 
hall  of  fame  of  that  day,  was  by  reason  of 
the  sound  thrashing  Wiley  gave  him.  From 
Wiley's  house,  at  Aroma,  there  was  a  path  that 
led  through  the  thick  underbrush  to  a  favor- 
ite fishing-hole  on  the  river.  Wiley  was  an  en- 
thusiastic fisherman  in  a  day  when  fishing 
on  the  Kankakee  was  worth  while,  and  scarce- 
ly a  day  passed  that  he  did  not  traverse  this 
wilderness  path  with  his  hickory  fishing-pole. 
The  unknown  bully  laid  in  wait  for  him  one 
day  on  this  path  and,  as  he  appeared,  stepped 
out  in  front  of  him  and  blocked  the  way.    "Are 


258  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

you  Gus' Wiley?"  asked  the  stranger.  "I  am," 
said  Wiley;  "what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  a  licking"  said  the 
stranger  seriously. 

"All  right,"  flashed  Wiley,  "off  with  your 
coat!' 

The  stranger  pulled  his  coat.  "Why  don't 
you  pull  yourn,"  said  the  stranger,  as  Wiley 
threw  down  his  fish-pole  and  stepped  up  to 
him  with  his  coat  on.  "It's  too  much  trouble 
fur  nothin'  "  replied  Wiley,  "git  up  yer  hands 
and  look  out  f er  yourself !"  The  bout  was  fast 
and  furious,  most  too  fast  and  decidedly  too 
furious  for  the  youthful  stranger  who  did  not 
long  stand  up  under  the  vigorous  gruelling  of 
this  backwoods  giant.  The  fellow  was  only 
too  glad  to  acknowledge,  finally,  that  his  ideas 
as  regards  to  licking  Wiley  had  undergone  a 
radical  change  in  the  space  of  five  minutes — 
that  he  might  have  been  in  the  right  place  but 
the  wrong  pew.  It  wasn't  Wiley  he  was  look- 
ing for  after  all ;  it  was  a  fellow  who  looked  a 
good  deal  like  him !  He  had  done  his  bit  but 
was  conscious  of  a  strong  desire  "to  pass  the 
torch  to  other  hands"  before  he  had  fairly  got 
started.  And  Wiley,  after  a  few  sage  re- 
marks by  which  youth  might  profit,  picked 
up  his  fishing-pole  and  went  his  way  to  the  old 
fishing-hole  on  the  river. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  259 


"GOOD  OLD  ELDER  BURR" 

Shakespeare's  witty  and  somewhat  caus- 
tic observation,  "the  good  is  oft  interred  with 
the  bones/'  fails  utterly  in  its  application  to 
the  Rev.  S.  P.  Burr,  Momence's  first  resident 
minister.  After  seventy  years  he  is  still  re- 
called among  the  old  settlers  in  and  about 
Momence,  and  those  who  are  disposed  to  relate 
tales  concerning  him  invariably  preface  their 
statements  with  the  significant  legend,  ut- 
tered with  a  notable  emphasis  and  unmistak- 
able unction — "He  was  a  good  old  man,  was 
Elder  Burr!"  That  he  was  a  good  old  man, 
there  is  no  room  for  reasonable  doubt,  since 
saint  and  sinner,  with  one  accord,  after  all 
these  years,  join  heartily  in  the  happy  designa- 
tion at  such  times  when  the  good  old  Elder's 
name  is  mentioned. 

He  was  the  father  of  Methodism  in  Mo- 
mence. By  this  we  do  not  mean  that  he  was 
the  first  to  hold  religious  services  in  the  little 
river  settlement  on  the  Kankakee.  There 
were  other  circuit  riders  who  preceded  him  by 
many  years.  Enoch  Sargeant,  a  brother  of 
Asher  Sargeant,  the  first  settler  at  Momence, 
who  came  to  the  river  in  1835,  although  not  a 


260  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

circuit  rider,  held  preaching  services  now  and 
then.  Elder  Morrison,  who  lived  four  miles 
north  of  the  Momence  settlement,  is  a  quaint 
early-day  character  whose  mannerisms  and 
oddities  of  speech  are  still  recalled.  For  many 
years  he,  with  others,  traversed  the  wilder- 
ness and  brought  to  the  dwellers  therein  the 
message  of  the  gospel,  besides  serving  the  lim- 
ited population  of  that  day  on  the  occasion  of 
a  wedding,  a  christening  or  a  funeral.  Elder 
Morrison  officiated  at  the  wedding  of  Daniel 
Beebe  and  Nancy  Mellen,  which  was  held  at 
the  Mellen  home  situated  near  the  mouth  of 
Exline  creek,  on  December  30, 1841.  After  the 
ceremony  had  been  duly  performed,  the  Elder, 
as  a  fitting  finale,  offered  up  a  long  and  fer- 
vid prayer,  in  which,  apparently,  not  one  of 
life's  serious  problems  was  left  untouched. 
To  the  bride's  great  confusion  and  embarrass- 
ment, the  good  old  Elder  petitioned  the  Al- 
mighty to  bestow  upon  this  couple  a  numerous 
progeny,  to  be  directed  always  in  the  way  of 
righteousness. 

If  the  congregations  of  that  day  were 
blunt,  practical,  "home-spun"  folk,  with  little 
or  no  education,  so,  too,  were  the  preachers  of 
the  circuit  who  exhorted  them  in  the  language 
of  the  old  frontier.    If,  at  times,  he  spoke  in 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  261 

rude  and  homely  phrase,  if,  sometimes,  his 
statements  were  pointed  with  the  grim,  un- 
couth humor  of  the  pioneer,  it  was  because  he 
was  of  them  and  knew  them  and  understood 
them.  Elder  Morrison  used  to  say  to  his  con- 
gregation: "Brethren,  thar  will  be  preachin' 
here  four  weeks  from  this  day — wind  and 
weather  permittin'  ah,  and  if  the  green-heads 
ain't  too  bad!"  It  is  hard  for  twentieth  cen- 
tury folk  to  see  anything  but  humor  in  this 
statement.  It  is  harder  still  to  realize  that 
"the  wind,  the  weather  and  the  green-heads," 
were  elemental  difficulties  to  be  seriously 
considered  at  all  times  by  the  lowly  circuit 
rider. 

Rev.  Elisha  Springer  rode  one  of  the  ear- 
liest Methodist  circuits,  established  in  1833, 
extending  from  Spring  Creek,  Iroquois  coun- 
ty, to  Rensselaer,  Indiana,  and  from  the  Wa- 
bash to  the  Kankakee.  He  made  this  circuit 
in  1842  and  preached  in  some  of  the  outlying 
districts  to  the  east  of  Momence.  It  is  recalled 
that,  at  times,  when  he  was  announcing  fu- 
ture services,  he  would  say:  "I  will  hold  ser- 
vices here  two  weeks  from  today,"  and  then, 
eyeing  the  male  members  of  the  congregation 
shrewdly,  added  the  following  unusual  quali- 
fication, "that  is,  if  it  ain't  a  good  coon  day !" 


262  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

He  knew  that  if  it  did  happen  to  be  a  "good 
coon  day,"  the  male  members  of  the  congrega- 
tion, unable  to  resist  the  lure  of  the  coon  in 
the  woods,  would  not  be  present  at  the  ser- 
vice, however  urgent  the  call  of  the  gospel 
might  be. 

The  first  of  the  early-day  circuits  on  the 
Kankakee  was  that  which  embraced  a  circle 
extending  from  Joliet  to  Wilmington,  up  the 
river  to  Momence,  thence  to  Beebe's  Grove, 
Thorn  Grove,  Crete,  Frankfort,  etc.,  over  one 
hundred  miles  in  extent.  When  in  the  fall  of 
1849,  the  Rev.  S.  P.  Burr  was  appointed  to  this 
circuit,  it  had  been  much  shortened,  so  much  so 
that  Elder  Burr,  as  he  was  known  by  the  set- 
tlers, found  Momence  a  convenient  center 
from  which  to  make  his  ministrations.  This 
circuit  on  which  he  served  was  later  called  the 
"Beebe  Grove  Circuit." 

As  a  rule  the  pioneer  settlers  were  a  peo- 
ple of  deep  and  genuine  religious  convictions. 
This,  however,  does  not  seem  to  have  been  the 
case  with  the  people  who  constituted  the  slen- 
der population  of  Momence  of  that  day.  The 
town  bore  the  reputation  of  being  a  wide-open, 
go-as-you-please,  free-for-all  sort  of  town  and 
lived  up  to  its  reputation.    In  that  day,  from 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  263 

1847  to  about  1856,  it  experienced  its  greatest 
prosperity.  It  then  had  some  five  or  six  stores 
and  something  like  two  hundred  inhabitants, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  country  tributary.  The 
inhabitants  of  Momence  and  those  who  fre- 
quented the  place  were,  in  the  main,  typical 
frontier  types.  Musk-rat  and  coon-skin  caps 
and  buckskin  vests  and  coats  were  the  rule 
rather  than  the  exception.  If  these  people 
were  "hard-nosed,"  (to  use  the  popular  ver- 
nacular of  today),  in  their  attitude  towards 
matters  religious,  it  is  not  to  be  taken  that 
they  were  openly  hostile  to  the  circuit  rider 
and  his  ministrations.  They  were  merely  in- 
different— decidedly  and  markedly  so — that's 
all. 

Elder  Burr  was  a  shrewd,  kindly,  friend- 
ly, practical  sort  of  man  who,  in  addition  to 
these  desirable  personal  qualities,  was  dis- 
tinctively a  man  of  parts,  as  the  little  com- 
munity soon  came  to  know.  He  brought  to  the 
little  river  settlement  of  Momence  the  very 
first  buggy  that  ever  came  to  town.  That 
buggy  was  a  most  important  asset  in  one  re- 
spect at  least.  It  broke  down  the  barrier  of 
cold  reserve  and  indifference  on  the  part  of 
the  citizens  of  Momence  as  nothing  else  could. 
A  community  might  be  unmindful  of  a  lowly 


264  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

circuit  rider  and  preacher,  and  go  their  way 
and  show  little  concern  in  his  affairs,  so  long 
as  he  let  them  alone  and  did  not  obtrude  too 
strongly  upon  the  established  order  of  living. 
But  the  buggy,  of  which  the  Elder  made  use 
in  making  his  rounds,  proved  a  decided  spur 
to  public  interest.  In  the  stores,  in  the  saloons, 
on  the  street,  wherever  men  gathered  and 
talked,  the  buggy,  an  innovation  of  surpassing 
importance  to  the  backwoods  settlement  of 
that  day,  was  discussed  in  all  its  phases. 

Quite  unconsciously  these  people  of  the 
old  frontier  town  developed,  in  time,  a  sub- 
stantial respect  for  this  grim  old  warrior  of 
the  cross  who  possessed  not  only  a  buggy,  but 
a  fine  set  of  carpenter  tools,  in  the  use  of 
which  he  was  very  expert.  A  parsonage  was 
built  for  the  Elder  in  the  fall  of  1849.  It  stood 
on  Locust  street  just  opposite  where  the  ruins 
of  the  old  brick  school  house  stood  for  so  long. 
The  site  later  served  W.  M.  Durham  as  a  gar- 
den. This  parsonage  building  was  16x24. 
Chauncey  and  Albert  Chipman,  assisted  by 
Rev.  Burr  himself,  were  the  carpenters  who 
jointly  erected  this  modest  domicile.  This 
first  parsonage  was  used  up  until  about  the 
time  of  the  building  of  the  old  stone  church. 
At  that  time  W.  H.  Patterson  desired  the  site 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  265 

to  add  to  his  grounds,  which  later  became  the 
Durham  home,  and  arranged  with  James  Mix 
and  the  church  trustees  for  an  exchange  for 
the  present  parsonage  lot  at  the  corner  of 
Fifth  and  Range  Streets. 

John  Bennett  tells  us  that  in  the  year  1850 
a  representative  of  the  Presbyterian  faith  in 
the  person  of  Rev.  Birze,  came  to  Momence. 
At  that  time  preaching  services  were  held  in 
the  school  house,  and  Elder  Burr  and  Rev. 
Birze  preached  on  alternate  Sabbaths.  It  hap- 
pened that  on  one  occasion  there  was  a  misun- 
derstanding between  the  two  as  to  which  had 
the  day,  both  claiming  it.  Early  on  that  Sun- 
day morning  Elder  Burr,  in  order  to  head  off 
his  friend  Birze,  repaired  to  the  school  house, 
built  the  fire,  swept  out  and  put  everything  to 
rights,  and  then  went  home  to  dress  for 
church.  When  he  returned  with  his  wife 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  later,  much  to  his 
surprise  he  found  friend  Birze  in  full  charge. 
Elder  Burr  was  not  slow  to  grasp  the  point, 
and  sat  down  and,  for  once  in  his  life,  listened 
to  a  good,  old-fashioned  Presbyterian  sermon. 

Elder  Burr  was  returned  to  this  charge 
by  the  conference  in  the  year  1851  and  thus 
served  the  community  for  two  years.  An  an- 
noying throat  trouble,  with  which  he  was  af- 


266      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

flicted,  caused  him  to  resign  as  a  regular  pas- 
tor after  1851,  but,  for  a  number  of  years 
thereafter,  he  continued  to  make  Momence  his 
home,  preaching  occasionally  and  working  at 
his  trade  of  cabinet  maker.  For  years  he  had 
his  shop  in,  the  Berg  building  on  River  street, 
near  the  alley.  This  building  is  still  standing. 
Elder  Burr,  in  the  eyes  of  the  little  river  set- 
tlement, was  not  only  a  good  man,  a  good 
preacher,  as  preachers  went  in  that  day,  but  a 
good  cabinet  maker.  He  was  a  most"  helpful 
and  handy  man  to  have  around  in  a  day  before 
the  commercial  era  had  superceded  the  rude 
arts  of  pioneer  handicraft.  Some  idea  of  what 
this  plain,  kindly,  simple  old  man  meant  to 
the  settlement  of  that  day  may  be  gained  from 
the  varied  services  he  rendered.  He  married 
people ;  then  he  made  the  furniture  with  which 
they  began  housekeeping;  when  a  child  was 
born,  he  christened  it,  if  the  parents  so  de- 
sired ;  when  a  death  occurred,  he  administered 
spiritual  comfort  and  preached  the  funeral 
sermon,  besides  supplying,  by  his  own  handi- 
work, the  queer,  angular,  six-sided  coffin  of 
black  walnut  in  which  they  were  laid  away. 
Truly  his  was  a  service  many-sided  and  indis- 
pensable. Here  and  there  about  Momence  may 
be  found  in  this  day  examples  of  the  plain, 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  267 

sturdy  household  furniture  that  had  its  origin 
in  the  unpretentious  shop  of  the  old  circuit 
rider  long  ago.  Time  has  invested  these  pieces 
with  memories  and  given  them  a  value  quite 
out  of  proportion  to  the  humble  materials  em- 
ployed. 

Though  the  Elder  was  patient  and  un- 
wearying in  the  cause  of  Christianity,  aside 
from  a  very  few  families  in  town  and  the  near 
countryside,  the  cause  of  the  gospel  did  not 
visibly  prosper.  Men  went  their  way,  but  that 
way  led  invariably  to  the  saloon  and  the  gamb- 
ling hells  and  never  to  the  house  of  God,  ex- 
cept in  the  case  of  a  funeral.  There  was  one 
"saving  grace"  the  community  had — they 
would  attend  a  funeral.  And,  at  such  times, 
the  Elder,  quick  to  take  advantage  of  an  op- 
portunity to  snatch  a  brand  from  the  burning, 
would  exhort  his  hearers  to  flee  from  the 
wrath  to  come  and  take  refuge  in  God's  jus- 
tice. 

A  notable  instance  is  recalled  of  a  funeral 
at  which  the  old  Elder  presided.  It  was  that 
of  the  two-year  old  son  of  James  Nichols,  a 
pioneer  and  a  member  of  the  well  known  fam- 
ily of  "Uncle  Billy"  Nichols,  who  lived  three 
miles  northwest  of  the  settlement.  The  time 
was  about  1855  or  1856.  The  Nichols  were  well 


268  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

known  and  popular  among  all  classes  and  num- 
bered among  their  friends  almost  the  entire 
population  of  Momence,  as  well  as  the  settlers 
of  the  countryside.  The  tragic  death  of  James 
Nichol's  little  son,  John,  moved  the  commun- 
ity to  an  unusual  demonstration  of  sympathy, 
evidenced  by  a  remarkable  attendance  at  the 
funeral. 

The  little  fellow  one  day  in  the  early  sum- 
mer, was  romping  through  the  open  doors  of 
the  house  and  out  in  the  yard  around  the  end 
of  the  house  and  back  through  the  open  doors 
in  a  circuit  when,  suddenly,  from  out  of  doors, 
the  mother  heard  a  piercing  scream.  Hurry- 
ing out  she  found  the  child,  and  the  nearby 
ugly  form  of  a  prairie  rattle-snake  indicated 
only  too  plainly  to  the  mother  what  had  hap- 
pened. On  one  of  the  child's  ankles  appeared 
two  bright  red  spots  where  the  deadly  fangs 
of  the  reptile  had  struck.  Such  remedies  as 
the  pioneer  made  use  of  to  combat  the  deadly 
poison  of  the  rattler  were  employed,  but  with- 
out avail.  The  little  fellow  died  within  three 
days.  A  sorrowful  errand  for  the  father  was 
when  he  sought  out  Elder  Burr,  and  from  his 
pocket  drew  forth  a  string  of  a  certain  length 
whereon  appeared  a  knot  a  certain  distance 
from  one  end,  indicating  roughly  the  dimen- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  269 

sions  of  a  coffin  for  the  toddler,  which  the 
Elder  then  and  there  proceeded  to  make. 

The  funeral  was  attended  by  all  classes 
of  Momence's  mixed  population  and  the  Elder 
therein  recognized  an  opportunity  to  bring 
the  message  of  the  gospel  to  a  people  whom  he 
never  met  except  on  the  street  or  on  the  rare 
occasion  of  a  funeral.  His  effort  on  this  occa- 
sion was  a  notable  example  of  vigorous  exhor- 
tation. For  the  space  of  an  hour  he  urged  that 
congregation  "to  leave  off  sin  and  take  on 
righteousness."  No  sermon  of  camp-meeting 
or  revival  days  ever  surpassed  in  earnest  in- 
tensity this  effort  of  Elder  Burr.  As  one  ex- 
pressed it :  "He  did  everlastingly  lambast  them 
on  their  shortcomings."  That  audience  for 
days  afterwards,  felt  the  moral  effect  of  this 
appeal  of  the  old  parson  to  their  better  in- 
stincts. His  picturization  of  the  evil  one,  out- 
lined against  the  fires  that  glow  unceasingly 
in  the  abyssmal  depths  of  the  brimstone  pit, 
was  a  fearful,  awesome  thing,  the  mere  recol- 
lection of  which  loomed  like  the  shadow  of  a 
spectre  standing  back  of  the  chair  at  a  feast. 
Some  days  later  a  Momence  gambler,  a  rather 
likable  fellow,  on  meeting  the  Elder  on  the 
street,  asked  him  point  blank  why  he  went 
after  that  congregation  so  hard.    The  Elder 


270  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

eyed  him  shrewdly  for  a  moment  and  replied : 
"Whenever  the  devil  lets  go  your  coat-tails  for 
a  space,  that  is  my  opportunity ;  many  of  you  I 
never  see  except  at  a  funeral  service!  The 
message  of  salvation  is  a  vital  one  whatever 
the  occasion  may  be !"  And  the  parson  smiled 
a  kindly  smile  so  that  he  to  whom  his  words 
had  been  addressed  smiled  also  and  remarked : 
"Elder,  you're  a  trump !  In  this  gospel  game 
you  win!  You  hold  aces,  kings  and  queens 
against  ten-spots  and  deuces  !" 

From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  in  the  years 
that  followed,  there  was  an  increasing  respect 
for  the  sincere  old  parson  among  all  classes  in 
the  little  river  settlement  of  whom,  as  a  matter 
of  truthful  acknowledgement,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  they  were  a  wild  and  harum  scar- 
um  lot.  But  the  leaven  of  friendliness  and 
kindliness  is  irresistible  and,  like  "the  blood," 
on  which  the  southerner  sets  such  store,  "is 
bound  to  tell  in  time!"  A  marked  deference 
was  shown  Elder  Burr  and  men  of  all  types 
touched  the  brim  of  their  hat  in  token  of  re- 
spectful salutation.  The  riverman,  the  round- 
er, the  hunter  and  trapper,  who  spent  much  of 
his  time  in  the  wilderness,  coming  to  town  now 
and  then  that  he  might  fraternize  with  his 
fellows,  load  up  with  needed  supplies  and  liqu- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  271 

or,  never  passed  the  parson  on  the  street  that 
he  did  not  remove  his  pipe  with  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  he  tilted  the  queer  musk- 
rat  cap  he  wore. 

The  old  Elder,  amid  surroundings  forbid- 
ding and  all  but  hopeless,  nevertheless  sowed 
the  seed  of  friendliness  and  kindliness  with  a 
liberal  hand,  as  if  hopeful  and  confident  of  the 
future.  Truly,  his  was  a  faith  fixed  firmly 
and  unshakably  on  the  word  of  God,  which 
says:  "Whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that  shall 
he  also  reap !"  And  that  his  faith  and  his  lab- 
ors were  not  in  vain,  behold,  after  seventy 
years,  wherever  recollection  goes  back  to  those 
primitive  days,  there  is  this  unvarying  testi- 
mony to  his  memory— 

"He  was  a  good  old  man,  was  Elder  Burr." 


272  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

"THE  OLD  HILL  TAVERN" 

Next  to  William  Lacy  and  Mr.  James  Van- 
Kirk,  who  settled  at  the  "Upper  Crossing"  in 
the  fall  of  1833,  came  Robert  Hill  in  the  year 
1834.  He  took  up  a  claim  on  the  south  side 
of  the  Kankakee  and  immediately  constructed 
a  cabin  of  logs  nearby  the  Chicago-Vincennes 
trail  and  opened  a  tavern.  This  tavern  was 
destined  to  become  famous  for  Robert  Hill 
was  of  the  broad,  genial,  expansive  Southern 
type,  a  bon-vivant  whose  stories  and  cheer 
and  hospitality  soon  became  the  "talk  of  the 
trail."  These  qualities,  indispensable  to  a  suc- 
cessful tavern  keeper,  were  further  aided, 
sustained  and  abetted  by  "Ma"  Hill,  than 
whom,  no  better  cook  ever  basted  a  turkey  or 
dipped  her  hands  in  flour  anywhere  on  the 
trail  between  Vincennes  and  Chicago. 

In  that  early  day  of  the  border  there 
were  taverns  that  had  achieved  something  of 
a  reputation  with  the  traveling  public  of  that 
day,  notably  the  "Buckhorn  Tavern,"  situated 
south  of  the  Kankakee  in  the  forks  of  the  trail 
in  the  near  outskirts  of  the  present  town  of 
Donovan,  Iroquois  county.  A  former  towns- 
man, the  late  Major  R.  J.  Hanna,  years  ago 
gave  us  an  idea  of  the  menu  of  this  old-time 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  273 

hostelry  in  1857.  He  was  a  member  of  the 
surveying  party  that  laid  out  the  line  of  the 
T.  P.  &  W.  Railway.  They  were  in  the  imme- 
diate neighborhood  of  where  the  town  of  Shel- 
don stands  today,  and  there  was  but  one  lone 
shack  visible  in  all  the  country  roundabout. 
The  man  of  the  shack  was  too  poor  to  have  a 
floor  in  it.  He  was  so  poor  that  he  could  pro- 
vide nothing  more  than  potatoes  with  the 
jackets  on  and  a  dish  of  sow-belly,  at  which  the 
stomachs  of  the  men  revolted.  They  paid  for 
the  dinner  they  did  not  touch  and  then,  to 
quote  Mr.  Hanna's  words :  "We  sent  our  Irish- 
man five  miles  to  the  old  Bunkum  Buckhorn 
Tavern  to  order  supper  for  five  hungry  men. 
We  arrived  there  shortly  after  dark  and  Oh, 
my  countrymen,  what  a  banquet  was  there 
provided!  There  was  a  puncheon  floor,  a 
puncheon  table,  and  puncheon  boards  for 
seats,  but  all  clean  as  wax.  In  the  center  of 
the  table  was  a  large  dish  filled  with  mashed 
potatoes  as  white  as  snow,  with  a  tablespoon- 
ful  of  golden  butter  in  the  center;  cream, 
snowy  biscuits,  and  a  roast  joint  of  beef  that 
would  have  done  honor  to  King  Arthur's 
Round  Table.  We  sat  down  to  this  feast  with 
stomachs  twelve  hours  distant  from  break- 
fast/' 


274  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Robert  Hill  within  the  short  space  of  a 
year  or  so,  found  his  log  hostelry  altogether 
inadequate  to  the  demands  of  the  wilderness 
public.  Such  was  his  fame,  so  completely  did 
he  dominate  the  spot  that  the  hosts  of  freight- 
ers frequenting  the  "Chicago-Vincennes 
Road"  called  this  crossing  of  the  Kankakee 
"Hill's  Crossing."  There  was  everything  to 
indicate  that  here,  where  the  travel  con- 
verged, was  a  most  likely  spot  for  a  town  and 
Hill,  imbued  with  this  idea,  proceeded  to  build 
a  two-story  frame  structure  that  would  have 
been  a  credit  to  any  town  of  that  day.  The 
building  of  this  house  took  place  about  1840. 
The  framework  was  hand-hewn,  the  sheathing 
and  smaller  timbers  being  furnished  by  the 
saw-mill  at  Momence,  a  mile  away.  The  finish- 
ing lumber  was  hauled  from  Chicago.  With 
the  building  of  the  new  structure,  the  reputa- 
tion of  "Hill's  Tavern"  grew  apace  and,  for  a 
space  of  ten  years  or  more,  enjoyed  a  remark- 
able run  of  patronage.  Men  on  the  road 
would  put  themselves  to  much  trouble  and  in- 
convenience in  order  that  they  might  put  up 
for  the  night  at  "HilFs  Tavern."  There  they 
were  sure  of  a  congenial  company  and  the 
best  of  fare. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  275 

What  an  interesting  insight  into  the  life 
of  that  day  might  have  been  gathered  from 
the  conversation  and  stories  of  the  pioneers 
themselves  as  they  drew  round  the  hospitable 
hearth  in  the  bar-room  of  this  wayside  inn? 
What  stories  of  hardships,  adventure  and  ro- 
mance that  filled  the  lives  of  the  pioneers, 
were  bandied  about  when  the  Hoosier  from 
the  Wabash,  the  Yankee  from  the  east,  the 
riverman  and  the  hunter  of  the  woods  and 
prairies  thus  met?  The  historian  of  today 
would  have  found  in  the  varied  types  that 
patronized  the  "Hill  Tavern"  of  1840,  abun- 
dant material  for  a  volume,  replete  with  his- 
torical fact  and  the  humor  of  the  frontier.  It 
is  even  hinted  that  Landlord  Hill  himself 
could  have  supplied  the  substantial  elements 
of  a  volume,  single-handed  and  alone,  that  is, 
when  he  was  feeling  his  best. 

There  is  one  story  told  of  Hill  which  was 
so  highly  esteemed  by  the  border  populace  that 
it  has,  fortunately,  outlived  the  years.  This 
tale  bears  the  modest  title  "How  Hill  Made 
Change."  Hill  was  a  convivial  fellow  and,  in 
his  later  years,  enjoyed  the  flowing  bowl  as 
well  as  the  companionship  of  his  old-time 
friends.  On  one  occasion  he  had  for  his 
guests,  James  Dickey,  father  of  the  Dickey 


276      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

family,  William  Nichols,  (Uncle  Billy,  the 
father  of  most  all  of  the  Nichols),  and  John 
Hayhurst,  father  of  the  Hayhursts.  It  was  a 
particularly  joyful  time,  for  most  all  of  them 
had  come  to  the  country  at  the  same  time,  in 
1834,  '35  and  '36,  and  they  were  doubtless  deep 
in  the  reminiscences  of  the  old  days.  Hill  was 
pretty  well  organized — well  lighted  up — as 
they  say  of  one  who  shows  a  proper  apprecia- 
tion of  the  social  amenaties,  when  he  was  sud- 
denly interrupted  by  a  stranger  who  de- 
manded attention  in  a  decidedly  preemptory 
tone. 

Hill  was  in  no  hurry  to  leave  off  in  the 
middle  of  a  good  story  and,  accordingly,  paid 
no  attention  to  the  fellow.  The  stranger,  not 
to  be  put  off  in  this  manner,  became  boister- 
ous and  commanded  attention  of  Hill  who, 
much  to  everybody's  surprise,  gave  it  to  him 
in  the  shape  of  a  thrashing,  then  and  there. 
Naturally,  the  stranger  was  indignant,  and 
requested  to  know  where  he  could  find  a  jus- 
tice-of-the-peace.  Hill  told  him  there  was  no 
use  going  to  all  that  trouble.  He  could  get 
justice  right  there.  Here  was  a  jury  of  three 
good  men  who  had  witnessed  the  assault,  and 
they  could  retire  and  make  up  a  verdict,  and 
thus  dispense  with  all  red-tape.    The  man  con- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  277 

sented  to  this  novel  proposition,  and  Dickey, 
Nichols  and  Hayhurst  retired  and  discussed 
the  affair.  They  decided  that  Hill  had  struck 
the  man  four  times  and,  as  a  penalty,  they  de- 
clared that  he  should  pay  the  man  a  dollar  for 
each  blow  and  give  him  his  dinner  free  of  cost. 
The  verdict  thus  rendered  by  Hill's  friends 
was  accepted  as  satisfactory  by  both  sides,  and 
Hill  ordered  the  dinner  prepared.  After  the 
man  had  finished  his  repast  Hill  handed  him 
a  five-dollar  bill.  Hill  had  fifty  cents  coming 
to  him.  The  stranger  could  not  make  the 
change  and  so  announced.  "All  right,"  said 
Hill,  "I  make  the  change,"  and,  forthwith,  he 
landed  the  fifth  blow  between  the  eyes  that 
landed  the  stranger  well  up  in  the  corner  of 
the  bar-room.  The  jury  helped  the  fellow  to 
his  feet  and  as  they  did  so,  they  advised  him 
that  although  the  difference  in  change  now 
laid  in  his  favor,  he  had  best  run  along  about 
his  business  and  let  Hill  keep  it. 

The  register  of  the  Hill  Tavern,  if  they 
had  such  a  thing,  and  if  it  were  accessible  in 
this  day,  would  show  the  names  of  individuals 
afterwards  famous  in  the  business  and  politi- 
cal world.  Congressman  "Long  John"  Went- 
worth,  of  Chicago,  used  to  stop  here  during 
his  campaigns.    At  an  Old  Settlers'  meeting, 


278  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

held  in  the  year  1880,  at  Old  Bunkum,  now 
Iroquois,  in  Iroquois  county,  "Long  John" 
Wentworth  was  one  of  the  speakers  and  re- 
lated an  interesting  personal  experience  at  the 
"Hill  Tavern."  In  the  year  1843,  he  was  run- 
ning for  Congress,  and  his  district  embraced 
about  one-fourth  of  the  state,  comprising  the 
east  half  from  Vermilion  county  north.  On 
one  occasion  he  delivered  a  speech  at  some 
town  west  of  Chicago,  and  the  next  day  but 
one  was  to  deliver  a  speech  at  Bunkum.  It 
was  a  long  drive  and  he  started  the  night  be- 
fore, after  delivering  his  first  speech.  A  little 
after  noon  the  next  day  he  arrived  at  "Hill's 
Tavern"  and  procured  his  dinner.  He  then 
explained  to  Landlord  Hill  that  he  had  been 
riding  all  the  previous  night  and  asked  if  he 
could  not  lay  down  for  a  three-hour  nap.  He 
was  shown  into  a  room  adjoining  the  dining- 
room,  where  he  threw  himself  across  the  bed 
and  sought  sleep.  Presently  he  heard  the 
voices  of  two  young  ladies,  whom  he  supposed 
to  be  Hill's  daughters,  in  the  adjoining  room. 

"I  believe  that  is  Wentworth,  the  man 
who  is  running  for  Congress,"  he  heard  a 
voice  say. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  279 

"No,  it  can't  be,"  said  the  other,  "for 
Wentworth  is  nearly  seven  feet  tall,  and  that 
man  isn't  that  big." 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  "I  noticed  he  was 
awful  big,  and  I'll  bet  it's  him." 

There  was  considerable  discussion  as  to 
the  identity  of  the  sleeper  when  one  of  the 
girls  suggested  that  they  measure  him  and 
thus  make  sure.  There  was  considerable  gig- 
gling and  bantering  back  and  forth,  but  fin- 
ally stealthy  steps  were  heard  approaching 
the  bedroom  door.  "Long  John"  stretched 
himself  at  full  length  and  started  to  snore  in 
a  way  that  fairly  jarred  the  roof.  Inch  by 
inch  the  door  opened  noiselessly  and  a  pair  of 
mischevious  eyes  peeped  from  behind  the  edge 
of  it.  A  warning  finger  was  laid  on  her  lips 
as  a  sign  of  caution  to  the  other,  and  then  she 
whispered :  "He's  sound  asleep !"  They  then 
procured  a  string,  tip-toed  into  the  room  and 
forthwith  measured  him  from  the  crown  of 
his  head  to  the  extreme  tip  of  his  big  toe.  The 
girls  were  highly  elated  at  their  achievement 
and  the  result  of  the  measurement  appeared 
to  settle  conclusively  the  fact  that  it  was 
"Long  John"  Wentworth  himself  and  no  one 
else. 


280  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

With  the  passing  of  the  pioneers  who  first 
settled  in  the  near  environs  of  "Hill's  Tavern," 
on  the  Kankakee,  there  passed  into  oblivion 
also  memories  of  the  numerous  dances  and 
social  functions  held  there  from  time  to  time 
from  1835  up  to  1850.  Another  entertaining 
volume  might  be  written  of  these  affairs  if 
the  past  could  but  speak.  "Hill's  Tavern"  was 
a  spot  of  happy  memories  for  the  belles  and 
beaux  and  settlers  of  the  nearby  wilderness 
who  were  wont  to  gather  there.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hill,  who  made  the  Tavern  famous,  were  even 
more  famous  as  entertainers.  There  was  a 
wholesome  heartiness  to  the  welcome  they  ex- 
tended to  these  friends,  and  the  more  of  noise 
and  bustle  and  confusion,  the  more  topsy- 
turvy things  became  about  the  house  the  bet- 
ter Pa  and  Ma  Hill  liked  it.  There  was  al- 
ways a  good  time  at  Hill's,  and  that  statement 
goes  as  it  lays. 

About  the  last  that  is  remembered  of  the 
tavern  was  a  grand  ball,  given  by  Hill  in  the 
spring  of  1850,  during  the  days  of  the  Cali- 
fornia gold  excitement,  in  honor  of  a  number 
of  residents  who  were  leaving  the  following 
day  under  the  captaincy  of  Philip  Worcester, 
for  the  gold  fields  of  the  new  Eldorado. 
Among  them  was  Hill's  son,  Sam,  a  well  known 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  281 

character  in  that  day.  There  was  a  most  not- 
able attendance  at  this  function  and  the  fun 
was  fast  and  furious  and  lasted  until  the  break 
of  day.  Several  hours  later  Captain  Worcest- 
er and  his  men  on  horseback  and  with  wagons 
carrying  supplies,  set  forth  bravely  on  the 
trail  that  extended  more  than  half-way  across 
the  continent.  They  set  out  on  the  river  trail 
on  the  west  bank  of  the  Kankakee  and  Luther 
Gleason,  a  lad  of  nine  years,  watched  the  cav- 
alcade as  it  passed  their  home  on  the  river, 
(now  the  Alice  Payne  farm),  and  saw  them 
turn  into  the  old  trail  that  branched  from  the 
river  road  at  the  point  where  the  old  Rice  cem- 
etery is,  and  lost  itself  in  the  unbroken  prairie 
to  the  west.  Captain  Worcester,  stiff  and 
military  looking  on  his  charger,  led  the  van. 
There  was  a  man  carrying  the  stars  and 
stripes,  and  following  were  men  on  horse- 
back and  in  the  wagons.  Among  those  who 
made  up  the  party  that  left  Momence  were: 
Albert  and  Horace  Worcester,  John  Trever- 
baugh,  Sam  Hill,  Jake  Nichols,  A.  C.  Beadle, 
John  Beebe,  Elias  VanDeKarr  and  Henry 
Case.  There  were  others  of  the  party  from 
the  neighborhood  of  Momence,  but  their 
names  are  not  obtainable  in  this  day. 


282  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Through  the  medium  of  a  diary  now  in 
the  possession  of  John  H.  Nichols,  kept  by  his 
uncle,  John  E.  Hill  while  on  the  memorable 
overland  trip  to  California,  the  following  par- 
ticulars are  obtained.  The  party  left  Momence 
on  the  11th  of  March,  1850.  Those  of  the  party 
mentioned  in  the  diary  are:  John  E.  Hill,  S. 
M.  Hill,  John  Yates,  Washington  Allen,  P. 
Thatcher,  I.  Rutter,  William  Nichols,  T.  B. 
Snapp  and  J.  R.  Haddon.  Each  of  these  men 
rode  a  horse  and  led  a  pack-animal.  They  went 
to  Bourbonnais,  Wilmington,  Galesburg,  and 
then  to  Memphis,  Tennessee,  and  from  there 
to  St.  Joe,  Missouri,  where  they  outfitted, 
leaving  there  on  May  13th,  1850.  John  E.  Hill 
and  party  left  California  for  home  on  board 
a  ship  called  "The  Olive  Branch,"  but  he  died 
en  route  and  was  buried  at  sea  in  January, 
1851. 

At  Bourbonnais  the  ranks  of  the  gold 
seekers  were  reinforced  by  a  goodly  number, 
and  upon  reaching  Wilmington  three  or  four 
more  were  added,  so  that  there  was  probably 
a  company  of  thirty  or  forty  men  who  started 
out  under  the  guidance  of  Captain  Philip 
Worcester.  In  that  day  of  the  fifties,  the  Hill 
Tavern  had  lost  much  of  its  patronage,  for  the 
bridge  across  the  Kankakee  at  that  place  had 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  283 

been  carried  out  in  1849  and  Momence,  one 
mile  to  the  west,  had  forged  to  the  front  so 
that  the  freighters  found  the  place  more  to 
their  liking  and  stopped  there  on  their  trips 
to  and  from  Chicago.  One  by  one  the  busi- 
ness people  of  Hill's  Crossing  dropped  down 
the  river  to  Momence  and,  in  the  course  of 
time,  the  Hill  Tavern  was  moved,  building  and 
all.  The  building  was  owned  for  many  years 
by  John  Lundstrum  and  occupied  the  site  at 
the  corner  of  River  and  Market  streets.  The 
building  was  torn  down  only  a  few  years  ago, 
and  thus  passed  out  of  existence  one  of  the 
most  notable  landmarks  in  eastern  Illinois. 


284  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


AN  IMPROMPTU  DOUBLE  WEDDING 

It  is,  perhaps,  too  much  to  expect,  that  a 
story  with  a  title  so  tame  as  the  foregoing,  will 
cause  even  a  ripple  of  interest  in  the  public 
mind  of  today.  The  keynote  of  the  Twentieth 
Century  is  "Progress,"  and  nowhere  in  our 
social  and  economic  structure  is  the  peculiar 
progress  of  the  age  better  illustrated  than  in 
the  ceaseless  grind  of  our  divorce  courts,  and 
the  columns  of  the  daily  press  wherein  are  set 
forth  in  nauseating  detail,  the  conjugal  infelic- 
ities of  the  times  in  which  we  live.  It  would 
seem  that  "speed"  is  a  more  becoming  term 
than  "progress."  Of  course,  there  are  and  al- 
ways have  been,  all  sorts  of  curious  people  in 
the  world,  accustomed  to  doing  all  kinds  of 
peculiar  stunts  and  it  may  be  that  twentieth 
century  folk,  who  have  progressed  to  a  point 
where,  from  sheer  ennui,  they  knock  one  an- 
other in  the  head,  or  seek  a  divorce,  or  simply 
pull  up  stakes  and  vamoose  as  the  easiest  way 
out  of  a  bad  situation,  may,  after  all,  get  a 
thrill  out  of  this  tale  of  old  frontier  days. 

In  our  search  for  the  unusual  in  the  way 
of  happenings  of  frontier  days,  there  was  the 
incident  of  the  two  fellows  who  got  together 
and  traded  wives,  and  the  other  incident  of  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  285 

impromptu  double  wedding  that  bobbed  up 
continually  whenever  an  old-time  resident  be- 
came reminiscent  and  invited  one  back  of  the 
veil  to  glimpse  those  treasures  which  the  mem- 
ory holds  worth  while.  He  would  tell  you  that 
over  in  east  of  Momence,  in  the  sand  and  scrub 
contiguous  to  the  Indiana  state-line,  there 
lived  in  the  early  days  two  men  and  their 
wives.  One  of  them  proposed  one  day  that 
they  trade  wives.  The  other  was  only  mildly 
interested.  He  thought  he  deserved  some- 
thing to  boot  on  the  trade.  They  were  both 
poor  as  church  mice,  hence  the  question  of 
"boot"  was  a  poser.  The  man  who  had  pro- 
posed the  trade  finally  bethought  him  of  a  load 
of  hickory  poles  which  he  had  laboriously 
hewn  out  of  the  timber,  and  these  he  tendered 
with  the  proviso  that  the  recipient  was  to 
come  and  get  them.  The  offer  was  accepted 
and  the  exchange  made,  and  these  meager 
facts  as  hereby  set  forth,  are  solemnly  af- 
firmed by  many  and  many  a  one  of  our  most 
reliable  citizens.  With  regard  to  the  impromp- 
tu double  wedding,  many  with  whom  we  talked 
had  heard  of  it,  yet  none  were  able  to  recall  the 
names  of  the  principals  nor  any  of  the  inci- 
dents attending  this  unusual  affair  of  the 
frontier.    We  came  at  last  to  look  upon  it  as  a 


286  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

pet  tradition  of  the  old-time  populace,  some- 
thing to  regard  indulgently  and  pass  by  with 
a  smile,  until  one  day,  Mrs.  America  Brosseau 
asked  if  we  had  ever  heard  of  it,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  give  some  of  the  details. 

To  begin  with  Mrs.  Brosseau  stoutly  avers 
that  the  story  of  which  we  thought  so  lightly 
is  absolutely  true.  The  couples  involved  were 
residents  of  Bourbonnais  township,  as  we 
know  it  today,  and,  presumably,  lived  in  the 
near  vicinity  of  the  Samuel  Davis  home  on 
Davis  Creek  and  the  Bourbonnais  Road.  The 
time  was  of  the  late  thirties.  Mrs.  Brosseau 
recalls  that  the  Davis  home  was  a  general 
rendezvous  for  the  French-Canadian  residents 
of  Petite  Canada,  the  prairie  settler  and  the 
neighborhood  "squatter."  Davis,  in  addition 
to  supplying  the  more  urgent  needs  of  the 
frontier  household  in  the  way  of  sugar,  tea 
and  coffee,  had  always  on  hand  a  generous 
supply  of  whiskey  which  he  dispensed  in  quan- 
ties  or  by  the  glass  as  desired.  Hence  we  may 
know  that  there  was  something  of  conviviality 
added  to  these  nightly  gatherings  at  the  Davis 
home,  after  a  drink  or  two  had  served  to  mel- 
low the  spirit  and  unloose  the  tongue.  And  if 
the  men  found  pleasure  and  interest  in  these 
oft-repeated  tales,  so,  too,  the  old  dames  who 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  287 

gathered  in  the  ample  ingle-nook  of  the  old- 
fashioned  fire-place  of  the  Davis  home  with 
cob-pipes  that  steamed  blue  like  the  witch- 
ing fumes  of  an  incense-pot,  found  an  appetiz- 
ing flavor  in  ancient  gossip — a  new  thrill  in 
the  more  than  "twice-told  tales."  As  a  child, 
Mrs.  Brosseau  says,  she  has  listened  to  these 
tales,  wide-eyed  and  serious,  holding  fast  to 
the  maternal  skirts  meanwhile. 

Mrs.  Brosseau's  memory  has  fortunately 
preserved  to  us  the  names  of  the  men  con- 
cerned in  this  unique  affair,  Dorion  Tetreault 
and  Pete  Volkenburg,  the  one  a  sort  of  coureur 
de  bois,  or  rover,  and  the  other  of  much  the 
same  stripe  as  Tetreault,  was  regarded  in  the 
parlance  of  the  frontier  as  a  "squatter."  By 
some  strange  lapse  of  memory  she  cannot  re- 
call the  names  of  the  women,  except  that  one 
of  them  was  known  as  Josette  and  the  other 
Mary.  It  was  at  a  gathering  at  a  neighboring 
cabin  where  these  young  people,  among  others, 
were  present,  that  it  was  proposed  to  hold  a 
mock  wedding.  The  young  men  were  more 
than  willing  candidates  for  the  event,  and  tra- 
dition even  winks  mysteriously  and  intimates 
as  much  for  the  young  women.  They  paired 
off  and  solemnly  took  the  marital  vows  and 
later  "jumped  the  broom-stick,"  after  which 


288  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

he  who  had  conducted  this  unusual  service 
(who  claimed  to  have  been  a  justice-of-the- 
peace  at  one  time  in  his  life),  read  a  chapter 
from  the  Bible  in  a  voice  decidedly  shaky,  halt- 
ing and  uncertain,  and  then  pronounced  them 
"man  and  wife." 

Congratulations  were  showered  upon  the 
newly  wedded  pairs,  and  all  sorts  of  good 
natured  raillery,  such  as  an  occasion  of  this 
kind  sanctions  among  friends,  was  indulged 
in.  Others  of  the  company  busied  themselves 
setting  back  the  scanty  furniture  and  clearing 
the  floor.  A  backwoods  fiddler,  with  his  bat- 
tered violin,  appeared  conveniently  from 
somewhere,  and,  seated  upon  an  improvised 
throne  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  the  raucous 
strains  of  the  fiddle,  as  he  tuned  the  instru- 
ment, warned  the  company  that  everything 
was  in  readiness  for  a  regular,  old-fashioned 
"hoe-down"  or  "shindig."  That  mark  of  dis- 
tinguished consideration  which  the  frontier 
residents  of  that  day  sought  to  bestow  upon 
the  "newly-weds,"  found  expression  chiefly  in 
this  outburst  of  good  will,  with  its  laughter, 
good  natured  chaffing  and  music.  For  hours 
this  happy,  care-free  people  of  the  old  fron- 
tier danced  to  the  tune  of  "the  Bumble  Bee," 
which  was  a  favorite,  varied  now  and  then  by 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  289 

a  cotillion,  the  figures  of  which  were  called 
by  one  of  their  number,  a  more  or  less  dishev- 
eled figure  who,  between  calls,  pulled  steadily 
on  a  big,  black  pipe,  and,  by  way  of  variation, 
spat  heavily  now  and  then  into  the  nearby 
fire-place. 

There  were  intervals  in  the  dance  of 
which  the  men  took  advantage  to  get  "a  nip 
of  liquor,"  while  the  "ladies,"  to  appease  ap- 
petites made  voracious  by  the  unusual  exer- 
cise, partook  of  "light  refreshments,"  or,  in 
the  parlance  of  the  frontier,  "a  snack."  This 
"snack"  consisted  of  whatever  might  be  pro- 
cured by  scraping  the  cupboard  to  the  bare 
boards.  Therefore,  those  who  helped  them- 
selves, seized  upon  that  which  appealed  most 
to  the  taste— a  doughnut,  a  piece  of  maple 
sugar  or  a  biscuit,  spread  with  the  dark,  rich 
red  of  the  wild  plum.  One  buxom  lass  with  an 
appraising  eye,  succumbed  to  the  lure  of  a  cold 
corn  pone  which  she  spread  liberally  with 
flakes  of  ham-fat  and  bacon  "drippings,"  and 
then  devoured  with  numerous  outward  signs 
of  satisfaction,  afterwards  wiping  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  and  her  lips  on  the  hem  of  her 
"linsey-woolsey."  The  "caller"  must  have  got- 
ten an  inspiration  out  of  this  sight  of  the 
buxom  lass  and  the  corn  pone,  for,  in  the  cotil- 


290  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

lion  that  followed,  his  genius  framed  the  fol- 
lowing, which  was  a  take-off,  apparently — 

"Meet  your  partner — 
Hit  'er  on  the  head, 
If  she   don't  like  biscuits 
Give  'er  corn  bread; 
Keep  a  hookin'  on — 

Upon  the  breaking  up  of  the  dance  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Tetreault  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Volken- 
burg  were  overwhelmed  anew  by  their  friends, 
who  wished  them  all  sorts  of  good  luck  in 
their  matrimonial  venture,  although  it  had, 
on  the  whole,  been  somewhat  unpremeditated. 
But  why  let  a  little  thing  like  that  interfere? 
Surely  they  would  some  time  marry!  The 
wedding  had  been  duly  solemnized ;  the  vows 
had  been  made  before  witnesses;  the  event 
had  been  gloriously  celebrated  by  the  neigh- 
bors of  the  countryside!  What  more  could 
anybody  ask?  And  then  as  if  to  clinch  the 
arguments  already  set  forth  and  remove  any 
element  of  doubt  that  may  have  lingered  in  the 
minds  of  the  contracting  parties  themselves, 
he  who  had  once  been  a  justice-of-the-peace 
announced  ponderously,  "You-all  is  jes'  (as 
much  married  as  though  you  had  paid  me  five 
dollars  apiece."  Such  an  enlightening  and 
convincing  statement  from  the  lips  of  so  au- 
gust a  personage  was,  apparently,  all-suffi- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  291 

cient.  The  principals  in  the  affair  were  all 
more  or  less  willing  to  accept  the  situation, 
only — it  was  so  sudden,  you  know — and  the 
"ladies"  so  flustered  for  the  time  being  that, 
if  they  hesitated  for  the  moment,  it  was  not  to 
be  regarded  as  a  sign  of  disapproval  alto- 
gether. And  in  this  manner,  so  old-time  gos- 
sip affirms,  were  the  ranks  of  the  Benedicts 
augmented  in  the  little  settlement  that  had 
its  beginning  near  unto  that  of  "Petite  Can- 
ada." 

There  was  much  of  spirited  conversation, 
much  of  jollity  and  laughter  as  the  crowd  set 
forth  on  the  dimly  lighted  trails  that  led  in  a 
round  about  way  through  the  woods  to  their 
homes,  and  where  a  trail  diverged,  there,  for  a 
moment,  the  party  would  linger  that  congratu- 
lations might  be  renewed  and  friendly  admon- 
itions repeated.  An  owl  high  up  in  the  dead 
top  of  a  jack-oak  and  dimly  outlined  against 
the  waning  moon,  whose  nocturnal  reveries 
had  thus  been  rudely  shattered,  emitted  a  ter- 
rific "Twhoo !  T'wh-o-o !  and  the  still  watches 
of  the  night  were  made  fairly  clamorous  by 
the  oft-repeated  echo  of  "Who !  Wh-o-o !  Wh- 
o-o-o !"  "Ah,"  said  a  voice — it  was  that  of  the 
buxom  lass  of  the  corn  pone — "The  man  in  the 
moon  wants  to  know  who  we  are !  Well,  then, 


292  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

if  you  are  so  anxious  and  must  know,  it  is  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Tetreault  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Volken- 
burg  on  their  wedding  trip  home !"  And  the 
outburst  that  followed  this  sally  of  frontier 
wit  so  upset  and  discomfited  Br'er  Owl  that 
he  spread  his  wings  in  ignominious  flight. 


Concerning  most  marriages  of  an  unusual 
nature,  such  as  the  foregoing,  the  chronicler 
thereof  is  privileged  to  say  "that  they  lived 
happily  ever  after,"  and,  in  this  particular  in- 
stance, the  reader  is  justified  in  accepting  the 
statement  without  question.  More  than  that, 
popular  gossip  of  that  early  day  ascribes  to 
these  wedded  couples  a  devotion  and  con- 
stancy above  reproach,  as  well  as  a  fair  meas- 
ure of  prosperity  as  prosperity  was  reckoned 
in  the  old  days  of  the  border.  The  gossips  of 
that  day  even  went  so  far  as  to  preserve  to 
posterity  the  interesting  details  of  a  conversa- 
tion, said  to  have  taken  place  between  the 
heads  of  the  respective  houses  of  Tetreault 
and  Volkenburg  when,  after  ten  days  of  wed- 
ded bliss,  they  had  settled  back  into  the  old, 
accustomed,  shiftless  habits  of  wilderness  life. 
They  met  one  day,  Dorion  and  Pete,  as  they 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  293 

had  often  met,  down  on  the  river  by  the  old 
Yost  saw-mill,  where  the  fishing  was  espec- 
ially good. 

Says  Pete :  "Say,  Dorion,  how  are  you  and 
Josette  getting  along,  anyway?" 

"Ah,"  says  Dorion  in  reply,  "Josette  and  me, 
we  git  'long  lak  two  liF  kitten — jes'  lak  two 
tortle  dove!  She  split  de  wood,  she  mak  de 
fire,  she  fetch  de  water,  she  mak  de  breakf as' 
an  de  dinner  and  de  supper;  an  w'en  I  light 
de  pipe,  she  say,  'now,  Dorion,  don'  you  move. 
I  fetch  you  one  coal  from  de  fire  !'  Ah,  Pierre, 
Josette  is  jes'  de  one  for  me!  I  tell  youse, 
Pierre,  I  wouldn't  tak  a  honered  dollar  for  Jo- 
sette if  I  couldn't  git  'noder  jes'  so  good !" 

And  thus  lulled  by  the  memory  of  Josette's 
many  virtues,  warmed  by  the  sun's  genial  rays, 
at  peacq  with  himself  and  all  the  world,  there 
rose  to  his  lips  unconsciously,  so  it  seemed,  an 
ancient  chanson  of  the  voyageur  that  had 
lingered  for  generations  in  the  blood — 

"Each  returning  springtime 
Brings  so  much  that's  new, 
All  the  fickle  lovers 
Changing  sweethearts  too. 
The  good  wine  soothes  and  gives  me  rest, 
While  love  inspires  and  fills  my*  breast. 
All  the  fickle  lovers 
Changing  sweethearts  still, 
I'll  keep  mine  forever, 
Those  may  change  who  will!" 


294      TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


THE  RIVER  NAVIGATION  PROJECT 

The  coming  of  the  Illinois  Central  rail- 
road to  Kankakee  in  1853  was  most  inoppor- 
tune for  the  success  of  an  ambitious  develop- 
ment enterprise  launched  as  far  back  as  1846, 
when  the  Illinois  legislature  passed  a  special 
act  incorporating  the  Kankakee  &  Iroquois 
Navigation  and  Machinery  Company.  This 
company  was  organized  with  a  capital  stock 
of  $100,000,  divided  into  shares  of  $50  each. 
The  purposes  of  the  company,  as  set  forth  in  a 
pamphlet  issued  in  1847  were,  briefly,  "the  im- 
provement and  navigation  of  the  Kankakee 
and  Iroquois  rivers,  the  creation  of  water  pow- 
er on  said  streams  and  the  building  and  erect- 
ing of  mills  and  machinery  of  all  kinds  on  or 
near  said  streams.  The  said  company  shall 
have  the  power  to  improve  as  aforesaid,  the 
navigation  of  said  streams,  from  the  point  on 
the  said  Kankakee  river  which  is  intersected 
by  the  Kankakee  feeder  for  the  Illinois  & 
Michigan  Canal,  up  the  said  river  to  the  Indi- 
ana State  line;  and  from  the  mouth  of  the 
Iroquois,  near  Waldron,  up  to  the  same  Indi- 
ana State  line." 

These  rivers  traversed  a  considerable  ter- 
ritory of  exceedingly  rich  country  which,  upon 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  295 

its  settlement  and  development,  was  sure  to 
furnish  a  tremendous  volume  of  business 
which  would  be  handled  exclusively  by  the 
new  company.  The  project  had  much  to  com- 
mend it  as  a  sound  business  venture  and  the 
stock  of  the  company  was  readily  disposed  of 
among  business  men  and  settlers  along  the 
streams.  The  plans  of  the  company  further 
provided  for  eight  dams,  the  first  one  below 
Wilmington  and  the  last  one  at  Momence.  The 
dam  at  Momence  was  to  cost  $2,755  and  was  to 
have  been  provided  with  a  six-foot  lift  cost- 
ing $4,500  more.  The  only  expense  counted  on 
above  Momence  was  $500  for  a  "draw"  in  the 
bridge  at  "Upper  Crossing,"  or  Westport. 
The  Company's  prospectus  of  that  day  further 
states  that  30,000  bushels  of  wheat  grown 
south  of  the  river  were  annually  hauled  over 
the  bridge  at  "Upper  Crossing,"  or  Westport, 
in  that  early  day.  Nearly  all  of  the  promoters 
of  this  ambitious  project  were  Wilmington 
men.  Dr.  Hiram  Todd,  of  Rockville,  owner 
of  many  thousands  of  acres  of  valuable  river 
lands  on  the  Kankakee  and  Iroquois,  was  in- 
terested in  the  scheme.  Wonderful  develop- 
ments were  predicted  in  the  region  of  Rock 
Creek,  Waldron,  Momence,  on  the  Kankakee, 


296  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

and  for  Sugar  Island,  Plato  and  Middleport, 
on  the  Iroquois. 

During  the  years  of  the  late  forties  and 
the  early  fifties,  when  the  affairs  of  the  Navi- 
gation Company  loomed  encouragingly,  people 
were  attracted  to  Waldron.  Its  location  in 
the  heart  of  this  vast  agricultural  territory 
and  at  the  junction  of  the  rivers  made  it  the 
logical  site  for  a  town  of  real  consequence 
commercially.  The  Wilburs,  of  Momence,  in- 
terested themselves  in  a  milling  enterprise 
and  also  established  a  store.  Seth  Wells, 
prominently  identified  with  the  growth  and 
development  of  Momence,  built  a  three-story 
hotel  of  wood  on  the  corner  across  the  street 
north  from  Hoke's  store,  in  Waldron,  in  1851. 
Luther  Gleason  says  that  this  hotel  had  the 
best  dancing  floor  to  be  found  anywhere  in 
the  county.  The  building  was  later  destroyed 
by  fire.  The  old  barn  which  still  stands  on  the 
back  of  the  lots  occupied  by  Wells'  hotel,  had 
its  timbers  hewn  and  framed  and  was  first 
erected  at  Momence.  Some  say  that  Wells 
took  it  down  and  moved  it  to  Waldron  and 
re-erected  it  where  it  stands  today.  Others 
think  this  was  done  by  the  Wilburs.  Wells 
had  a  penchant  for  three-story  buildings.  Af- 
ter building  the,  one  at  Waldron,  he  later,  in 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  297 

1856,  built  a  three-story  brick  on  the  present 
site  of  the  Central  House  in  Momence.  It  is 
said  that  while  the  walls  were  being  laid, 
Wells  had  a  quart  bottle  of  whiskey  cached 
therein.  But  the  bottle  did  not  remain  there 
over  night.  Some  scalawag  pulled  down  the 
freshly  laid  wall  and  appropriated  the  booze 
unmindful  of  the  fact  that  whiskey  was  so 
cheap  as  to  make  the  effort  hardly  worth 
while.  Wells  was  the  moving  spirit  in  the 
erection  of  the  Worcester  &  Lane  hall  at 
River  and  Range  streets.  He  had  the  founda- 
tions up  and  the  materials  all  on  the  ground 
for  this  three-story  building,  when  he  sudden- 
ly made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  California.  He 
sold  to  Hannibal  Worcester  and  Dr.  J.  C.  Lane, 
who  finished  the  present  building. 

To  return  to  the  affairs  of  the  Navigation 
Company — considerable  money  had  been 
spent  and  the  improvements  as  scheduled  had 
actually  been  extended  as  far  as  "Polly's  Rif- 
fles," a  few  miles  this  side  of  Wilmington, 
when  the  bubble  burst,  due  to  the  building  of 
the  Illinois  Central  Railroad.  The  hour  had 
struck  wherein  was  ushered  in  that  great  era 
of  progress  and  development  which  is  the  most 
amazing  thing  in  our  civilization.  After  all, 
the  story  of  progress  is  largely  the  story  of 


298  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

"Transportation."  The  river  was  the  pioneer's 
natural  ally  in  the  days  of  the  "Covered  Wag- 
on" and  the  ox-team.  It  furnished  cheap 
transportation  besides  power  to  grind  his 
wheat  and  corn  and  saw  the  lumber  for  his 
wilderness  abode.  Our  friends  at  Momence, 
who  had  depended  upon  the  Navigation  Com- 
pany, while  acknowledging  the  superiority  of 
the  newly-built  railroad,  never-the-less  con- 
tinued to  make  use  of  the  river  for  a  consid- 
erable time.  After  the  coming  of  the  railroad 
and  the  locating  of  Kankakee  City,  John  Para- 
dis,  of  Momence,  constructed  the  first  steam- 
boat to  operate  on  the  Kankakee.  This  was 
in  1854.  This  boat  could  proceed  no  farther 
than  Waldron  on  account  of  the  dam. 

Mr.  S.  W.  Skelly,  who,  as  a  youth,  was 
first  a  resident  of  Kankakee  and  later  of  Wal- 
dron, or  Aroma  Park,  recalls  that  shortly  af- 
ter the  building  of  the  railroad,  in  1853,  power 
boats  were  placed  on  the  Kankakee  for  the 
purpose  of  conveying  freight  and  passengers 
to  and  from  Waldron  and  Kankakee  and  also 
between  Momence  and  Kankakee.  There 
were  two  boats.  The  one  operated  by  John 
Paradis  was  a  steamboat,  according  to  Mr. 
Skelly.  The  steamboat  plied  between  Mo- 
mence and  Waldron  but,  on  account  of  the 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  299 

dam,  could  not  proceed  farther  down  stream. 
The  Momence  boat  steamed  into  the  mill-race 
at  Waldron  and  there  discharged  and  took  on 
its  cargo.  The  boat  operated  between  Wal- 
dron and  Kankakee  was  a  flat-bottomed  af- 
fair with  a  large  stern-wheel.  The  power  was 
supplied  by  two  horses  walking  on  an  in- 
clined endless  apron,  or  tread-mill.  This  boat 
was  owned  by  E.  R.  Beardsley,  a  man  promi- 
nently identified  with  the  early  activities  of 
the  village.  A  man  by  the  name  of  Fuller  fur- 
nished the  horses  that  operated  the  tread-mill. 
Quantities  of  merchandise  were  thus  handled 
and  interchanged  by  these  primitive  boats  ply- 
ing between  Momence  and  Waldron  and  the 
railroad  at  Kankakee.  There  were  days  when 
the  mill-race  levee  at  Waldron  held  large  car- 
goes of  sacked  wheat,  barrels  of  flour,  bundles 
of  hides,  casks  of  wine  and  barrels  of  whiskey 
from  the  distillery  at  Momence,  awaiting 
transport  to  the  railroad  at  Kankakee.  And 
on  the  return  up-river,  these  boats  were  laden 
with  merchandise  brought  by  the  railroad  to 
Kankakee,  consigned  to  points  up-river.  These 
boats  made  one  round  trip  a  day.  In  the  mean- 
time, the  Beardsley  boat  at  Waldron,  was  used 
as  a  ferryboat,  and  was  thus  reasonably  busy 
from  sun-up  until  dark. 


300  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Later  in  the  fifties,  Ezra  Wetmore,  who 
owned  and  carried  on  the  present  Wetmore 
farm  on  the  Kankakee  between  East  Court 
street  and  Momence,  put  on  the  river  a  forty- 
foot  flat-boat  which  plied  between  Momence 
and  Waldron,  more  particularly  during  the 
season  when  the  prairie  roads  were  made  im- 
passable for  heavy  loads  by  the  rains.  This 
barge  of  Wetmore's  drew  two  feet  of  water, 
and  was  drawn  by  a  horse  attached  to  a  long 
line.  Sometimes,  when  the  wind  was  favor- 
able, a  large  sail  would  be  hoisted  and  the 
horse,  for  the  time,  was  dispensed  with.  Hugh 
Wetmore  says  that  as  a  youth,  he  has  made 
many  and  many  a  trip  to  Waldron  and  back 
astride  the  horse.  This  boat  carried  large  car- 
goes of  wheat  and  corn  to  Waldron  and  from 
there  it  was  hauled  to  Kankakee  by  teams. 
Returning  from  Waldron,  the  boat's  cargo  was 
more  often  lumber.  On  one  trip  down  the 
river  Mr.  Wetmore  says  the  boat  became  lodg- 
ed on  a  boulder  in  the  river  in  the  near  vicin- 
ity of  Saddler's  Island.  They  worked  nearly 
all  night  shifting  the  cargo  to  the  other  end 
of  the  boat,  and  finally  succeeded  in  releasing 
it.  The  rates  for  this  service  were  decidedly 
modest  as  compared  with  the  rates  of  today. 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  301 

J.  B.  Wicks  operated  a  daily  stage  line 
from  Mbmence  to  Kankakee  in  that  early  day 
and  carried  the  mail  for  a  number  of  years. 
With  the  building  of  the  C.  D.  &  V.  railroad 
to  Momence  in  1869,  Momence  ceased  to  de- 
pend on  Kankakee  as  formerly.  But,  in  this 
luxurious  era  of  the  Twentieth  Century,  the 
entente  cordiale  has  been  resumed,  apparently, 
to  the  great  advantage  of  both  cities.  These 
places  are  now  united  by  a  magnificent  con- 
crete roadway  and  luxurious  coaches  that 
rival  the  comfort  and  speed  of  the  railways 
are  at  your  service  every  two  hours  during  the 
day.  The  temptation  is  too  great!  We  just 
can't  stay  away!  The  "Dixie  Highway"  has 
robbed  Momence's  Main  Street  of  its  very 
name !  It  means  more  to  them  than  the  best 
railway  they  have!  The  world  now  strolls 
through  the  open  doors  of  Momence  and  Kan- 
kakee, in  highpowered  cars  that  out-rival  ex- 
press and  limited  trains.  The  world  is  on 
wheels !  The  man  from  Maine,  and  Manitoba, 
and  New  York,  and  New  Orleans,  and  Los  An- 
geles and  San  Francisco  whisk  by  each  other 
and  say  hello  and  goodbye,  and  wave  a  friend- 
ly salute !  We  have  seen  in  this  sketch  how  the 
dawn  of  the  railroad  era  dissipated  the  dreams 
of  the  Navigation  Company  of  the  Kankakee 


302  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

and  the  Iroquois  rivers.  After  seventy  years 
the  hour  has  struck  when  railway  men  in  high 
places  are  jumpy,  and  nervous  and  distracted 
over  the  problem  that  confronts  them.  For 
the  world  is  on  wheels,  and  the  freight  is  most- 
ly on  trucks !  One  fifth  and  better,  of  Illinois 
five  or  six  millions  own  and  operate  machines, 
and  other  sweating  millions  who  haven't  them, 
hope  to  have  them  soon!  And  the  railways 
hope  to  solve  the  problem  by  raising  the  rates ! 
This  is  a  generation  born  to  the  fabled  "silver 
spoon  in  the  mouth,"  and  but  a  single  sou  in 
the  wallet,  in  many  cases.  The  world  is  on 
wheels  today — "some  in  rags,  some  in  tags, 
and  some  in  velvet  gowns !"  But  they  all  thrill 
at  this  touch  of  luxury  which  "makes  the 
whole  world  kin." 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE 


303 


THE    CATHEDRAL    OF    THE    PRAIRIE 

The  Cottonwood  With  a  Story,  Which  Stands  in  the 

Dooryard   of  the   Alice   Payne   Farm,   on   the 

Banks  of  the  Kankakee. 


304  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 


THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  THE  PRAIRIE 

Let  us  say  at  the  outset  that  this  is  a  story, 
a  true  story,  of  a  cottonwood  tree— we  were 
going  to  say,  a  humble  cottonwood — but  that 
would  be  a  misnomer.  The  word  humble  ill 
becomes  the  rugged,  stately  magnificence  of 
this  particular  "tree,  said  to  be  the  largest  in 
the  county,  which  graces  the  residential  door- 
yard  of  the  Alice  Payne  farm,  midway  be- 
tween East  Court  street  bridge  and  the  village 
of  Aroma  Park,  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Kan- 
kakee. "The  Woods  were  God's  First  Tem- 
ples/' but  this  particular  cottonwood,  "ma- 
jestic, isolated,  grand,"  is  a  cathedral  among 
temples  that  dot  the  countryside  in  this  fair 
valley  of  the  Kankakee.  There  is  no  other 
term  quite  so  fitting — that  expresses  so  much 
and  so  truthfully. 

Cathedrals  and  temples  are  not  built  in  a 
day,  as  we  know.  It  is  a  long,  tedious,  labor- 
ious, heart-wearing  process  wherein  the  first 
effort  shows  little,  and  suggests  little  of  the 
glory  to  follow.  Generations  of  men  worked 
below  ground  on  the  foundations  of  stately 
St.  Peter's,  of  Rome  and  were  followed  by  still 
other  generations  who  spent  their  lives  and 
faded  into  the  twilight  of  the  ages  without 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  305 

glimpsing  the  transcendent  genius  of  Raphael 
and  Michelangelo,  to  whom,  apparently,  om- 
nipotence gave  the  triple  powers  of  architect, 
sculptor,  painter.  So,  in  a  way,  with  our  "Ca- 
thedral of  the  Prairie."  From  the  days  of  its 
nascent  life  when,  as  a  feathery  atom  instinct 
with  the  germ  of  life,  borne  by  the  winds  of 
chance,  it  fell,  unnoticed  of  men,  on  the  prairie 
land  of  Eber  Gleason  and  was  nurtured  by 
rain  and  sun  and  the  rich  prairie  soil,  and 
sprouted  and  grew,  and  sent  forth  a  tiny  root 
downward,  which  was  the  foundation,  and  a 
tender  shoot  upward  which  the  passing  years 
have  erected  finally  into  a  superstructure  of 
impressive  dimensions  and  perfected  sym- 
metry. 

On  the  incompleted  life  cycle  of  this  Cot- 
tonwood eighty  years  are  registered  and 
vouched  for  within  the  memory  of  the  pio- 
neers. An  amazing  and  interesting  feature 
of  this  cottonwood  was  that  it  was  lucky,  even 
as  some  men  are  said  to  be  Ivcky.  Just  around 
the  corner  lurked  a  kindly  fate  r«idy  to  inter- 
vene when  the  great  hour  struck,  so  that  men 
who  knew  of  the  incident  were  moved  to  say 
that  the  cottonwood  was  lucky  as  to  the  par- 
ticular situation  in  which  it  germinated  and 
grew;  that  it  was  lucky  in  the  possession  of 


306  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

an  unusual  vitality;  above  all,  that  it  was 
lucky  in  having  for  a  friend,  when  it  most 
needed  a  friend,  a  merciful  man,  a  kindly  man 
— one  with  the  soul  and  the  vision  of  a  poet. 

In  1838,  when  Eber  Gleason  took  up  this 
piece  of  land  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Kanka- 
kee, after  having  driven  all  the  way  overland 
from  distant  Vermont,  he  built  his  log  cabin 
in  an  open  space,  devoid  of  tree  or  shrub,  very 
near  to  the  present  highway.  Here  Eber 
Gleason  died  as  early  as  1847.  He  left  a  widow 
and  a  family  of  small  children.  Luther  Glea- 
son, who  was  born  on  the  place  in  1841,  says 
that  he  still  marvels  at  how  the  mother  ever 
reared  that  family  with  so  very  little  to  go  on. 
Truly  that  providence  which  was  mindful  of  a 
tree,  lent  a  helping  hand  to  the  mother  in  her 
hour  of  need. 

The  sixty  acres  comprising  the  Gleason 
farm  of  that  day,  after  the  death  of  Eber  Glea- 
son were  rented  to  Ralph  Parsons,  then  a 
youth.  Twenty  acres  of  the  sixty  were  still 
raw  prairie  and,  on  that  day  when  Parsons 
with  his  black  ox  team  hitched  to  a  breaker 
started  in  to  turn  over  the  sod,  there  opened 
an  epoch  filled  with  startling  experiences  for 
the  trim,  slender,  two-year  old  cottonwood 
whose  trunk,  about  the  size  of  one's  index 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  307 

finger  and  which  had  attained  a  height  of 
three  or  four  feet,  waved  cheerily  above  the 
grass  and  prairie  flowers  in  the  far-flung  sun- 
shine. As  the  plowing  progressed  and  furrow 
on  furrow  of  rich,  fat,  sleek  prairie  soil  ap- 
peared, the  doom  of  the  cottonwood  became 
more  pronounced.  Nearer  and  nearer  the 
furrows  crept  until  at  last,  the  cattle  as  they 
passed,  tempted  by  the  rich  green  leaves, 
mouthed  them  and  tore  them  viciously,  and  the 
plow,  as  it  passed,  toppled  the  dainty  little 
cottonwood  to  one  side,  and  Ralph  Parsons,  as 
he  followed  in  the  furrow,  moved  by  an  idle 
whim,  leaned  over  and  picked  it  up.  How 
prosaic!    How  common-place! 

At  the  end  of  the  field  Parsons  stopped 
the  cattle  for  a  moment  "to  let  them  blow/' 
and  busied  himself  meanwhile  brushing  away 
the  "greenheads"  that  they  might  rest  free 
from  the  attacks  of  these  murderous  pests,  for 
he  was  a  humane  and  merciful  man,  was  Par- 
sons. For  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  he 
carried  the  cottonwood  switch  and,  whenever 
a  stop  was  made,  employed  it  vigorously  in 
brushing  the  flies.  When  he  left  the  field  that 
night  he  brought  the  switch  with  him  and 
threw  it  down  in  the  barnyard.  Here  the  Glea- 
son  boys,  Audery  and  Luther,  found  it  and 


308  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

had  great  fun  chasing  each  other  with  it.  Lat- 
er, they  straddled  it  and  rode  it  about  the  yard 
and  youthful  imagination  invested  the  cotton- 
wood  switch  with  all  the  realty  of  a  prancing 
steed.  That  night  the  cottonwood  laid  out 
under  the  stars  in  the  backyard  of  the  Gleason 
home,  just  where  the  boys  dropped  it  root' 
trunk,  branch  and  all  above  ground,  a  thing 
forlorn,  abandoned,  yet  holding  tenaciously  to 
a  spark  of  life. 

The  following  morning,  by  what  fortunate 
chance,  by  whose  suggestion  is  not  now  re- 
called, the  diminutive  cottonwood,  a  wreck  of 
its  former  self,  ragged  and  bedraggled,  shorn 
of  the  trim  grace  and  beauty  of  twenty-four 
hours  ago,  was  planted  in  the  yard  just  where 
it  stands  today.  Ralph  Parsons  dug  the  hole 
and  sifted  the  soil  lightly  above  the  roots, 
while  the  boys,  moved  to  unusual  activity  by 
Parsons's  glowing  optimism,  which  pictured 
this  runt  of  a  tree  as  a  great,  great  big  one 
some  day,  fairly  wore  themselves  out  hauling 
water  with  which  they  deluged  it  that  first 
day  it  came  to  live  in  Gleason's  backyard.  It 
was  an  interested  and  loving  service  that  Par- 
sons and  the  boys  extended  in  their  efforts  to 
save  the  tree,  but,  for  a  space,  it  seemed  like 
labor  expended  in  vain.    The  cottonwood  hesi- 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  309 

tated  and  drooped  and  the  larger  leaves  gradu- 
ally assumed  a  jaundiced  appearance,  where- 
at Ralph  Parsons  would  feel  of  them,  much  as 
a  physician  feels  of  a  patient's  pulse,  and 
shake  his  head  gravely  when,  by  the  mere 
touch,  the  leaf  detached  from  the  limb.  Some 
weeks  later  it  was  decided  that  an  operation 
was  necessary,  so  four  of  the  primary 
branches  were  cut  off.  Little  by  little  the  tree 
perked  up  and  rounded  to,  and  by  fall  gave  evi- 
dence that  the  life-current  had  been  re-estab- 
lished, and  among  the  youngsters  of  the  Glea- 
son  household  there  was  great  joy  in  conse- 
quence. 

The  following  year  and  the  next,  and  the 
next  year  after  that,  this  cottonwood  waif  did 
marvelously  well,  and  assumed  the  propor- 
tions of  a  tree  whose  top  was  especially  shape- 
ly and  symmetrical.  Where  it  stood  in  the 
backyard  there  was  now  a  generous  splash  of 
shade  where  formerly  the  afternoon  sun 
burned  fiercely.  And  here,  for  a  brief  noon- 
day siesta,  Ralph  Parsons  would  often  betake 
himself  and  sit  in  quiet  contemplation  of  its 
rugged  strength  and  beauty  and  dream  be- 
times of  the  strange  part  fate  played  in  the 
life  of  a  man  and  a  cottonwood  tree.  If  a 
stranger  happened  to  be  present  then  Ralph 


310  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

Parsons  would  relate  the  story  of  the  tree, 
omitting  not  the  slightest  detail  of  its  infantile 
biography,  dwelling  particularly  on  how  it 
once  served  as  a  fly-brush,  how  the  boys  rode 
it  about  the  yard,  how  it  laid  uncared  for  all 
night  in  the  yard,  and  how  nearly  it  came  to 
giving  up  the  ghost  once  it  was  planted.  Ralph 
Parsons  loved  that  tree  with  a  deep  and  genu- 
ine affection  that  grew  with  the  years,  ex- 
panding as  the  tree  expanded  and  mounted 
higher  and  higher. 

Ten  years,  and  the  cottonwood  was  a  lusty 
thing,  bursting  with  life,  instinct  with  youth 
and  grace  and  beauty.  Twenty  years,  and  it 
looked  down  from  still  greater  heights,  and 
gave  promise  even  then  that  it  was  the  pro- 
geny of  giants.  Thirty  years,  and  from  far  off 
on  the  road,  Ralph  Parsons  on  his  way  to  visit 
it,  as  he  often  did,  beheld  great,  branching 
arms  lifted  high  that  waved  a  welcome  to  him. 
Forty  years,  and  there  were  signs  of  adoles- 
cence, such  as  a  tree  experiences — a  notice- 
able maturity  of  form  with  the  life-stream  still 
running  strong — a  dignity,  a  majesty,  becom- 
ing, awe-inspiring,  overpowering  when  one 
thought  of  its  humble  beginning.  The  great, 
out-stretched*  rounded  top  seemed  like  the 
vast  dome  of  a  cathedral,  and  the  sunshine  and 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  311 

shadow  of  spring  and  summer  and  fall  that 
sifted  through  the  branches  traced  in  weird 
and  fanciful  imagery  the  varying  moods  of 
the  seasons,  so  that  it  seemed  as  though  the 
vast  spaces  of  this  sanctuary  were  spread  with 
colorful  tapestries  and  rugs,  rare,  ancient, 
priceless ! 

Fifty  years,  and  Ralph  Parsons  from  his 
faraway  home  in  Nebraska,  wrote  now  and 
then  to  friends  in  the  near  neighborhood  of 
the  cottonwood  tree,  eager  for  some  word  of  it. 
And  these  friends  to  whom  he  appealed,  know- 
ing his  peculiar  veneration  for  the  tree,  would 
write  in  answer,  briefly  but  reassuringly: 
"It's  bigger  than  ever  and  going  strong  I" 

Sixty  years,  and  one  day  Ralph  Parsons, 
bowed  of  form,  slow  of  step  and  with  hair  as 
white  as  the  virgin  snow,  appeared  at  the 
home  of  a  friend  in  Aroma  Park.  Though  for 
him  the  sands  of  life  were  running  low  and  a 
thousand  miles  had  intervened,  he  hungered 
for  one  last  communion  with  this  old  cotton- 
wood  tree  which  had  figured  so  prominently 
in  his  life  and  his  thoughts  that  it  had  become 
an  obsession.  There  ares  men  still  living  who 
accompanied  Ralph  Parsons  to  the  spot  on  the 
Payne  farm  that  memorable  morning.   Vainly 


312  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

they  try  to  tell  you  of  the  mingled  expressions 
of  awe  and  reverence  that  shone  in  his  thin, 
pale  face,  as  the  rugged  lines  of  this  prairie 
giant  loomed  before  him  crowned  with  all  the 
glory  of  its  summer  verdure.  Ralph  Parsons, 
a  man  with  the  soul  of  a  poet,  was  a  man  of 
peculiar  moods  as  his  neighbors  knew,  and 
there  was  a  moment  of  hushed  silence,  a  con- 
straint that  became  in  a  way  irksome  as  he 
walked  into  the  tree's  far-flung  shadow  and 
doffed  his  hat  as  though  its  precincts  were 
like  unto  a  holy  place.  Ah,  it  was  indeed  a 
holy  place  for  Ralph  Parsons.  Here,  in  the 
very  heart  of  this  living  thing,  were  enshrined 
memories  of  his  youth,  and  as  he  stood  there 
two  thin,  gaunt  arms  reached  outward  and 
upward  towards  the  massive  form  of  the  Cot- 
tonwood, and  tears  rained  down  his  rugged 
cheeks,  and  for  many  minutes  he  stood  thus 
and  no  word  was  spoken.  It  was  an  awkward 
moment  for  the  friends  who  had  accompanied 
Ralph  Parsons  on  this  friendly  mission  but, 
they  remembered,  Ralph  always  was  odd  in  a 
way.  These  men  have  said  that  no  word  was 
spoken  but,  again,  they  did  not  understand. 
The  voice  of  the  Infinite  spoke  to  Ralph  Par- 
sons from  the  high  altar  of  "The  Cathedral  of 
the  Prairie" — "Peace. to  thee,  friend!    Blessed 


AND  ALONG  THE  KANKAKEE  313 

is  he  who  thus  reared  a  temple  to  the  Most 
High!" 

Seventy  years,  and  Ralph  Parsons  had 
long  been  summoned  to  his  reward.  He  did 
not  long  survive  his  trip.  But  the  cotton- 
wood,  with  its  life-stream  still  mounting  high, 
waxed  in  strength  and  stature  so  that  the 
afternoon  sun,  dropping  down  from  the  zenith 
to  the  west,  causes  the  tree's  huge  shadow  to 
creep  eastward,  unfolding  like  a  living  thing 
over  the  road,  down  the  river  bank  and  far 
out  onto  the  limpid  surface  of  the  Kankakee. 
Eighty  years,  and  it  still  stands,  a  mighty 
thing  nurtured  by  those  mysterious,  unseen 
forces,  that  dominate  the  realm  of  nature.  Its 
top  has  a  sweep  of  an  hundred  feet;  its  pri- 
mary branches  have  attained  the  dimensions 
of  venerable  forest  trees ;  its  sturdy  trunk  has 
a  girth  of  fifteen  feet  seven  inches,  and  where 
the  main  roots  reach  out  to  grip  mother  earth 
there  it  has  a  girth  of  eighteen  feet !  There  is 
a  virility  beneath  the  rugged  exterior  that  pro- 
claims a  destiny  unfulfilled  by  many  decades. 
It  is  sound  to  the  core!  It  has  neither  spot 
nor  blemish!  Jove's  thunderbolts,  as  if  by 
some  definitely  ordered  plan,  have  spared  it, 
lo,  these  many  years,  and  the  fierce  winds  and 
storms  of  summer  and  winter  have  wrestled 


314  TALES  OF  AN  OLD  BORDER  TOWN 

with  it  in  vain.  Even  the  destructive  sleet 
storms  have  left  its  symmetry  unmarred.  It 
still  looms  in  unwonted  majesty  and  beauty, 
the  most  striking  land-mark  in  all  the  country 
roundabout,  this  Cottonwood  slip  which  a  man 
rescued  on  the  prairie  on  an  afternoon  in  the 
long  ago,  when  the  world  was  new!  To  all 
men  who  view  it,  it  is  a  living  example  of  the 
truth  as  proclaimed  by  the  poet — 

"God  asks  so  little,  and  gives  so  much 
When   a  man  plants  a  tree!" 


